


of sharks and minnows

by samalambis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, mermaid!Dean, mermaid!Sam, mermaid!au, shark!sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7722103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samalambis/pseuds/samalambis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's a shark who'd rather be left alone in his self imposed isolation, where as Dean, an opportunistic mer, has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. kelp is the enemy

**Author's Note:**

> im also posting this on my blog, wincestion, but ill update it here as well yea (its gonna be a long one)

**  
**Sam was at a strange point in his life.  One where he could take a short swim back and really reevaluate everything up to now– truly, deeply, eye every detail and sick it up for the inevitable judgment it would receive.  It was almost calming to be here, at this point, where he could see himself for what he honestly was- which was, very much, truly, one hundred percent, trapped in kelp. **  
**

He was stuck.

Or rather, his tailfin was.  He had been careless, swimming through the green murky plant looking for –what was it again?– _something_ or the other, when he had entwined his lower half in the seaweed and found he couldn’t move.  Every small movement further sticking himself and he crossed his arms with a huff.

If he could just get his _teeth_ down there he’d be fine, the razor sharp rows perfectly built for ripping and tearing through most anything but the unfortunate business about being a sharkfolk was that he wasn’t flexible.  At all.  His lower half could only curve gently and the way he was angled his much more motionable spine wouldn’t quite make the deal to get his mouth there.  It was _aggravating_ , that one with such a powerful prowess as he, was struck immobile by a little seaweed.

Or more like a _lot._  What had he crashed into?  The entire bushel’s beginning?  It sure felt like it, the slimy tendrils swaying in the water and feeling practically everywhere as they were hooked around his tailfin.  He stared down at it in anger, eyes filling out black as his irritation broke through his calm surface and he openly snarled at the stupid plant.  He wanted it dead, which was a weird thought to have about a _plant_ but he was a damned predator.  A powerful, rather deadly force of nature and he didn’t want to be kept down thanks to some kelp!

Was this maybe karma for eating that mer last week?  The one with the very large and pointy stick that tried to laughably hunt him?  Granted that was his first piece of mer-flesh in some time (he didn’t really enjoy the texture of it, he far more delighted in the smaller creatures of the ocean), and maybe he could have been gentler about stopping the attack– but the cursed thing kept charging at him!  It was common knowledge not to run at the dangerous predator waving sticks around and expecting to make it out fine.  It was no one’s fault but it’s own that it ended up on the fast lane through Sam’s digestive track.

“I swear I won’t eat another damned mer again Poseidon if you simply _unstick_ me.”  He grit out through bared teeth, tugging again at the bounds and suddenly Sam swore he heard a giggle.  Which, what?

The shark swivelled his head, ears perked and suddenly feeling quite vulnerable in his position.  If he ran into another male shark he would not be seeing brighter days.

Whereas most (not all, mind you, Sam remembers mister-sharp-stick mer) of the mer population caught up with civilized times the sharkfolk have had it much harder.  Perhaps it was them being simply too inclined to their instincts, but sharks seemed to be far behind on the friendly neighbor deal because to Sam’s knowledge he hasn’t met a single other male shark that has not tried to _maul_ him outright.

The females were easier to deal with, because unless they were mother’s (which stay far back then if you want to live) they were more interested in if he was good mate material than actual _food_ material.

So if Sam is about to face a territorial bull whilst he is trapped in seaweed, well, then Sam might as well kiss this sweet cruel world goodbye.  He knew it well, it’s cold affections, uncaring waves, truly, an amazing companion to carry into brutal death.  He tensed as he thought on this, straining to hear anything over the blood rushing through his veins or the swaying of the kelp when suddenly–

“You mean it?”  A too cheery voice spoke and Sam shocked back, because ever so suddenly, a merfolk was right in his face.  A bright smile and wide eyes and Sam didn’t really know what to make of this situation.

“Excuse me?”  Sam said, leaning back from the mer.

“You promise not to eat another mer if I help you?”  The fishfolk reiterated, arms crossed behind his back and a cheeky grin being thrown Sam’s way.  Sam wanted to wipe that grin off of mer’s face, but found he was in no position to and decided to placate the idiotic thing.

“Yes…?”  He replied slowly, unable to rid of the question at the end thanks to his confusion and the mer _chuckled_.  At Sam, a _predator._

“Say it with some conviction and I’ll let you go.”  The mer said, smiling at him with a tilted head.  Odd, fairly odd, and it honestly made Sam uncomfortable.  Was this mer simply without survival instincts?  Or had he a death wish and felt it logical to seek out a trapped sharkfolk and bother them until they _found_ a way out simply to maim the mer in front of them?  Sam was finding himself close to that determination when the mer shook a finger in front of his face, Sam following the sharp movements with predatory speed.  “None of that,” the mer chided.

“None of what?”  Sam asked, fast and biting in his mild annoyance.

“You’re getting annoyed, is that anyway to treat someone trying to help you?”  The mer said and he was only half-right.

“You’re a stranger who just started bothering me, I think I’m allowed.”  He replied, all teeth as he spoke and the mer didn’t flinch once at the sight of rows of sharp sharp fangs.  Though at Sam’s words the mer gasped, covering his mouth with both hands.

“Oh, I’m sorry!  My name’s Dean.”  The mer said, jutting a hand towards Sam to possible shake and Sam simply stared at it until Dean got the memo and lowered it without a care.  Sam kind of wanted to bite the hand.

“Sam.”  He said when Dean continuously gestured to him, perhaps looking for the same courtesy Sam barely gave just now.

“Okay, Sam, so now that we have all the introductions squared away, how about you promise me _now_?”  Dean said, swimming around the shark to get a full view and making impressed faces as Sam struggled to keep an eye on the merfolk when it was behind him.

“Well?”  Dean prodded, and then quite literally prodded at Sam’s first dorsal fin and Sam jolted.

“Will you quit it?”  Sam growled out, tempted to thrash but knowing he’d only get further tangled if he did.

“Will you swear?”  And then Dean was poking his thick caudal fin, tugging at the end and Sam snapped out his reply,

“ _Fine._  I promise from the bottom of my damned heart now will you get me out?”

Dean, seeming pleased with this reply released Sam’s fin, swimming back around to Sam’s front and nodding with a smile.  Sam had little time to reply before Dean swam right above him, gold fins swishing right there in Sam’s face, and the shark barely resisted the urge to bite it while the mer’s lithe hands untangled the kelp.  The shark was unsure as to what the mer was doing, only knowing it was working because as the minutes ticked by he had far more wiggle room, feeling he’d soon be able to swim out of the damned trap of kelp entirely.

Except, when he went to move, he felt a small bop to his back, irritation blooming from the spot.

“Don’t move yet!  You’ll tangle yourself again.”  Dean chastised and Sam crossed his arms, holding still even though he wanted to thrash some just to hinder Dean, ignoring the fact it would also hinder him.  

“And,” Dean said, prolonging the word as he pulled apart the last knot of kelp, “done!”  And with that, Sam was indeed free to go, immediately shooting out from the kelp and turning about to get at Dean.  The little shit of a mermaid had annoyed him thoroughly, and at serving his purpose Sam was quite alright with forgoing his ‘not a fan of mer-flesh’ to get back at him for bothering Sam in the first place.  Ignoring the fact Dean had _helped_ him; Sam was sure he would’ve gotten out one way or another.

“Hey hey woah hey!”  Dean said, spitfire fast as he shot between differing stocks of kelp and being much smaller and far more flexible than Sam, Dean was able to keep out of reach quite easy.  Sam snarled out his frustrations, slipping with each second into his hunting mode because the whole ‘running away’ thing was _really_ bringing out his predatory side.  Dean, not knowing this, kept ducking in and out of the seaweed with little care except to keep out of the angry shark’s reach.

“Hey you swore now!”  Dean said, daring to look behind him and stifling a fearful sound when he noticed the pure black eyes and bared teeth.

Okay so maybe Dean could’ve been more respectful helping Sam out but it wasn’t everyday you could poke fun (quite literally) at a shark of all things, and Dean did have a mischievous streak whether he acknowledged it or not.  Though this time he probably should have deadbolted it down because Dean wasn’t much of an athlete and was already growing tired trying to keep only a few feet in front of the steadily closing in shark with very, very sharp teeth with a wholesome interest in testing the durability of his skin with their lovely pointiness.

Dean ducked through the largest kelp stalk yet, and, being a giant idiot perhaps managed to get one of his fins caught in a small knot and wasting no time quickly tore as fast as he could from it because he has _no time_ with Mr. Snappy jaws right behind him.  Which, he should’ve taken more caution from getting out of the small snatch perchance, as he found himself tumbling through the water and crashing face first in the sand.  

Ocean; one, Dean?  Zero and probably a brutal death.

Except, when the mer clenched his eyes tight and prepared to feel teeth rip into his body nothing much happened but his eyelids feeling irritated at the overusage suddenly.  He was almost painfully alive currently, and chancing a look up he had to stifle a laugh of both relief and joy at the sight of the mighty shark trapped, once more, in seaweed.  Sam was even more tangled than before, some of his human half stuck; right arm pulled back by the fin being caught on smaller tendrils while the left was completely flush against the shark’s body.

The shark was still struggling to get at him, pulling at the bonds to no avail and Dean was feeling pretty safe watching the muted struggles.  Feeling cheeky Dean swam right up to Sam’s face, being careful to stay out of reach of angry teeth as he gingerly brought a finger up to poke the shark between the eyes.  This made Sam noticeably more thrashy and Dean chuckled, easily getting right back out of reach and waiting with interested eyes for Sam’s hunter mode to recede back into whatever personality the shark had.  Probably one that wanted Dean gone, but still.

Meanwhile, Sam was placing a very large blame on karma while his mind regained itself, blinking back the clouding need to _hunthunthunt_ and waking to conscious with a defeated groan.  He was stuck again, this time due to his petty need to lash out at a mer who annoyed him –said mer currently in front of him with such a pleased grin Sam’s pride started to shrivel up a little.  He’d hate having to regain the small part that just crumpled away.

“So, we feeling better now?”  Dean said, leaning towards the disorientated shark with crossed arms.  Sam felt like not answering the prickish mer and pursed his lips, looking to the side and down at the kelp tangling all along his body.

“C’mon man, I _did_ help you before you, ya’ know, tried to eat me and all.”  Dean said and Sam figured he had that one on him.

“Fine, yes, dangerous shark wants to kill you” –excluding the part where it was still kind of there– “mode is gone, Dean.”  The mer just nodded at Sam’s spat out words, looking at his finger nails with mock interest and humming off key.

Dean flicked out some small whatever from under one of his nails, looking up at Sam when he cleared his throat and acting as if he didn’t notice Sam’s death glare the entire timed he preened himself.  He then regretted getting the mer’s attention, Dean instantly right there in Sam’s face with a wagging finger flicking between both eyes and Sam wanted to bite it off.

“I feel like you want my help again, tsk tsk, mister, how do I know you’re not going to try and eat me again?”

And before Sam could open his mouth to say what little he had in his own defense Dean kept on speaking.

“Oh wait, I _don’t_ know, seeing as your word is kind of up in the water for trust debate.”  The mer said with a shrug, turning to swim off and Sam looked down at the kelp nervously, felt how tight and powerful the green plant was wrapped around him and he’d rather not comically starve to death by the food _his_ food eats.

“Okay wait, just, uhm.”  He started, a little loud (or desperate) in the beginning to capture Dean’s attention and the mer looked back with thinly veiled interest, one ear-fin tilted his way.

“I’m listening.”  Dean said, still a way off and still looking about ready to swim off and leave Sam to his fate.

“I’ll do… anything.”  Sam said, forcing the word out and feeling oh so very ripped of his pride.

“Anything?”  Dean said, full interest beamed right at Sam again and the mer was moving back towards him with calculating eyes.

“Yes, anything, just get me out of this accursed thing and I’ll owe you a favour.”  This time Sam meant it, because karma can be a mean bitch sometimes and Sam would rather not invite her wrath a second time.  Things tend to come back with a vengeance for him.

“Well there is _something_ you could do for me…”  Dean trailed off, one hand tapping at his chin and Sam was willing to do whatever the mer needed.

“But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

“I’ll do it.”  Sam readily said, feeling confident that whatever task the mer needed couldn’t be too bad or time consuming.

“Hm.  I’m going to need you to promise me first that you’ll do whatever I ask of you, without trying to eat me.”  Dean asked, floating back too comfortable in Sam’s space and poking his nose, Sam steadfastly ignoring the irritation rearing it’s ugly little head and nodding slowly.

“I promise,” he half meant, “I will do your task.”  But, he wasn’t good at throwing real conviction in anything.  However, Dean seemed pleased enough with _this_ reply.  It convincingly assured him, Sam wouldn’t maul him.  Because this time, Sam honestly wasn’t going to.  Things were always nastier a second time round.

“Well that’s just dandy!”  Dean cheered, grabbing at Sam’s cheeks and pulling his mouth wide which _what_ and _why_ would anyone in their right mind do that at all?  Sam used everything in him to not bite down and rip through the delicate fingers of Dean’s hand and stay as still as he could while the mer poked around and made impressed sounds.

“I mean, you’re perfect for the part, just look at these _teeth_ of yours!”  Dean said, very carefully poking the top of one and hissing when it nicked the upper layer of skin.  Thankfully no blood spilled, Dean not wanting to find out what effect that would have on Sam and pulled his hand away.  The thought of his hand being bitten off making him feel just a little squeamish.

“See, I’ve been tailing you for some time, because you seem just right for what I need.”  Dean admitted, and it was true, he had been following Sam for a few days.  Studying the sharks behaviour and what the shark’s presence did to those around and figured there was no better fishfolk to find for this than this one.

“I will omit that from my memory.”  Sam said, feeling offset knowing he was being watched for an undisclosed amount of time.

“Do that.  Anyway, I’m trying to get a certain place.  Which might be…”  Dean trailed off, waving his hand this way and that.  “Well, it may or may not be a capital.  Or _the_ capital of all mer goings and such.  The top one.  Atlantis.”  Dean was speaking in chunks, feeling only a little bit off as he spoke.

Sam, for his part, didn’t see why Dean was nervous asking directions or something.  To be frank, Sam didn’t know much about Atlantis, where it was, or actually, for more truth, this was the first he’s heard of it.  Mer’s had capitals?  He knew they had towns and villages but that suggested cities.  Sam knew he was estranged from the world’s current on goings due to what he was and where he lived, but not _this_ much.  Huh.

“What’s your point?”  Sam asked, unsure where Dean was going with this.

“Well, see, Atlantis is quite some ways off, by maybe a whole ocean and I, being a lowly fishfolk of no combat skills and painfully charming charisma wouldn’t last a second in the more… open waters.”  Dean said, and even though where he was now was considered ‘open waters’, it wasn’t where the true oddities of the mer’s untouched and uncivilized folks resided, and already Dean was risking his life being _here._  Seeing as this part was where Sam’s ilk was more likely to be found.  Which was precisely why, Dean came here in the first place.

“What’s your point?”  Sam asked, only a wee bit impatient.  Or maybe that was because his nose was itchy and he couldn’t get to it.

“I need a guide.  No, not a _guide_ per se, but a _guard_.  A scary, threatening one.  Just like you!”  Dean spoke with odd glee, patting Sam’s cheek and Sam didn’t quite register what he said.

“…What?”

“I need someone imposing enough to scare all the _other_ imposing and scary critters off so I can get to Atlantis alive and _not_ eaten.”  Dean pronounced, hands pressing flat against each other and although Sam agreed to do _whatever_ Dean wanted, he didn’t mean that.  This would require more of Sam than he was originally willing to give.

But he was still stuck, and Dean was still his best option to get out of the contrived kelp and he sighed, weighing his options.  What were the odds another mer this trusting or ballsy enough to come this close to Sam would appear out of the blue?  Not happening.

With sagged shoulders he accepted Dean was most likely one of a kind, and truly his best bet to escape the seaweed.  Sam must have done something terribly wrong in his past life (or this one, it wasn’t that much a stretch) to be given only these two options; be stuck and starve to death in seaweed, or, tail a very odd mer across an entire ocean and ensure he doesn’t get eaten.

Now Sam could very easily ignore his promise and bolt out the second he gets a chance –and this time not try and eat Dean out of anger, but he was somewhat of a superstitious shark.  Rather than inviting more bad karma than what he’s already collected thanks to his not so chosen lifestyle, Sam subjects himself to playing guardfish over Dean.  Besides, he can just ignore Dean the entire time.

“So, what do ya say?”  Dean asked, waving a hand out for another failed shake and Sam stared at it with muted annoyance.  His hands were trapped, and Dean kept shaking his own, looking for Sam to take it which he very much could not.

Sam cleared his throat, and Dean caught on to the fact that Sam wouldn’t be able to shake on it, nor did he even want to.

“Oh, right.  Still, you in?”

“Do I have a choice?”  Sam asked.

“Uhm.  Not really no, unless you like starving to death.”  Dean said with a passive shrug and what kind of mer was so casual with letting another _starve_ to death?  Then again, Sam did find his living in eating others so Dean might assume he just did his entire populace a favour.  

“Then gander my choice.”  Sam replied haughtily and Dean giggled.  Annoyingly so.

“Then it’s a deal.”

“Exciting.”

“I know, right?”  Dean said, not faltering even a smidgen in the face of Sam’s cynicism.  

“Alright, let’s get you unstuck again, big guy.”  And once again Dean invaded Sam’s delicate space bubble, nimble fingers making quick work of the knots and Sam let out a sigh of relief when his arms were freed, fingers clenching and stretching out.  Blood flowed back to the limbs, the shark scratching at his nose with a pleased hum and Dean chuckled above him.

“What?”  Sam asked, irate.

“Big bad predator scratching his nose with a smile is kinda’ funny.”  Dean supplied without looking at him and Sam felt only a little self conscious at that.  He immediately withdrew his hand, crossing them defensively as he waited not so patiently for Dean to finish up.  His nose was itchy, fight him.

“Alright, one last tug at these knots and you should be all set to go.  Again,” Dean added, then, almost like an afterthought, “Sans teeth this time, hopefully.”

Sam didn’t bother replying to that, flexing his tail in anticipation and then with a exhale he shot out from Dean and the tangled web of kelp.  This time be didn’t turn to maul Dean, nor did he contemplate swimming off.  He’d rather not incur the wrath of karma again.

So, instead of doing what his instincts screamed at him to do, which was swim very, very far away from this, Sam turned around and swam right up to Dean.  Staying respectful of personal boundaries unlike _some_ merfolk, Sam stopped a few feet off.

Dean, for his part, widened his eyes at seeing Sam in full detail.  The shark was big, larger than any other he’s seen before.  When the mer was tailing Sam he’d only ever seen him from afar so being this close was almost frightening.  Dean understood then why Sam’s species were the apex predators for the longest time.

“Ehem.”  Sam cleared his throat, arms crossed over his chest because Dean was staring and he may have felt a little too conscious of it.  He knew he was a larger than average male, not to mention he hasn’t held a conversation this long for some time.  Having the occupant look at him like he was some kind of freak made Sam feel offset.

“Right, sorry, you’re just bigger than I thought.  Which is just perfect, let me tell you.”  Dean said, swishing forward and invading Sam’s personal space again to get a full look at him.  Sam turned his head and body to follow Dean, confused as to why Dean was so enamoured by his anatomy.  

“Alright,” Dean said to nothing in particular, veering up into Sam’s face, “let’s get some things cleared.”

“One; if you have to hunt, absolutely _no_ fishfolk.  Only fish please.  And of course let me know, I’d like to observe how your species’ hunt.”  Dean was curious, sue him.

“Second; well, there’s no _real_ second.  Just listen to everything I say, and we’ll be dandy.”  Dean said that so casually, as if it was the most normal thing and Sam squinted his eyes.

“Excuse you?”

“Excuse you?  You looked a little shocked to hear of Atlantis, and I’m gonna go on a limb and say you probably have no idea about the current state of merfolk civilities or politics.”  Dean shot back and.  Well.

“That’s not.  You can’t, well.  You.”  Sam fought for words and Dean just chuckled, patting at Sam’s chest before turning around.

“It’s okay, big guy, leave the questions and talking to me and everything’ll be fine and we’ll be in Atlantis and you’ll be all set to go in no time.”

Sam felt aggravated by Dean’s carelessness and followed after the mer, retort hot on his tongue.  “This isn’t fair, if anything you should listen to me, I survive out here.”  And yeah sure, Sam had a point there.  But Dean’s plan was to go from sparse town to sparse town, and there, etiquette was more important than who has the pointiest teeth.  Sam was just useful for those points in between where everyone wanted to sort of eat him.

Well Dean would be lying if he said that was the only reason he needed Sam to tag along, among other things.  But it’d be too early to say much of anything except how uniquely fitting Sam was for the part.  Really, everything he needed in one big, grumpy shark.  “Oh, we’ll talk out the semantics later, Sam.”

“I don’t want to talk later.”  Sam wanted it figured out now.

“Nice, neither do I,” Dean said, looking back at Sam with a cheeky grin, “Glad we agree on my terms then.”  Which wasn’t what Sam meant at all and he opened his mouth to say as such but Dean just waved a hand in his face.

“Let’s just find a nice place to rest a while so I can plot our course.  We’ll talk there if it’s so important to you.”  Dean said as he swam in no particular direction, eyes peeled for a nice secluded area where they could rest and figure out their destinations and all that like.  Sam followed shortly behind, with a quick, angry breath pounding out before he silenced himself.

“Fine.”

“Excellent.”  Dean said, and that was the last thing spoken for some time.


	2. what a smart idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my dad read through my story and gladly pointed out to me im continuously switching between past and present tense and ahahah ill fx that up in my next chapters but for the older ones. well. ill fix those up when i have the time;;

Dean liked to think that all of his ideas were genius.

He also liked to think _he_ was painfully ingenious.

Which is why he believed wholeheartedly it was a _genius_ idea to take the very untame, very much uncivilized shark into town.  They would need supplies for the trip, of course, and there was a small trading hub a day’s travel that valued itself for being out in the Open Waters.  Only the bravest of fishfolk went to live out so far, and though Dean was perhaps the farthest from brave, he was now towing a shark behind him.  He felt he was pretty set.

“So, there’s a town nearby that I believe we should visit.”  Dean opened with after they had found a small resting area, Sam having scared off all the lesser fish the second they came in.  Dean appreciated the empty quiet, sort of.

Sam looked up from the corner he secluded himself in, the permanent scowl indenting further with a questioning brow.

“For supplies, because, you know, long trip.”  Dean waved a hand with it, stretching his arms out and ignoring Sam’s glare.  The shark really was a grump, wasn’t he?  No matter, Dean could be that cheery asshole for the both of them.

“Plus some coats, I don’t know about you but, some of the waters we will be nearing will get pretty cold.”  Dean shivered just remembering when he went through them.  He wasn’t so sure how the town would take to the two of them swimming through –correction, _him_ they’d be fine with.  Sam?  Not so much.

Dean guessed they’ll just deal with that when they get there.  Rather he would, mers probably more inclined to listen to him than Sam.

“I doubt they’d have clothes for you though, it’s not often you get a mer in your size.”

“I’m a shark.”  Sam deadpanned and Dean rolled his eyes.

“What I meant, idiot.”  Dean said, oddly giddy at being able to call mister predator an idiot without repercussion.  Well, not _not_ without repercussion, he wasn’t positive on how much Sam’s little honour code kept him down from mauling Dean.

“Anyway, the town is Veriport, and they’ll have some useful tools.”

“Tools?”  Sam asked.

“You know, like cutting tools, satchels, _clothes_.  Also, snacks.  I’m getting hungry.”  Dean said, patting at his stomach and feeling hunger ebb at him.  Though there was a steady food supply surrounding him, kelp, it wasn’t up to par with what he’s used to.  Cooked meals, warm beds and, occasionally, wait staff were what he knew.  And looking at the green plant elegantly dance in the water, he could only purse his lips with a sigh.  He didn’t want to eat that.

“Can’t you eat the kelp?”  Sam asked, not understanding why Dean just didn’t eat the food surrounding them currently.  It made sense, to him, but Dean didn’t seem to get that as the mer stared at him with belittling eyes, which did nothing more than irk him.

“Can’t you just eat any fish that swims by?”  Dean mimed back in a mocking tone, and Sam just stared back with no amusement and only slight confusion.  

Sam could eat any fish that swam by, if he wanted, and he could the eat the whiny mer too.  “Yes, I can,” Sam said, with an almost pitying tone for Dean’s lack of intelligence which - no.

Dean would not be allowing.  “I _know_ you can, Sam, I just meant-” Dean stopped, trying to think of some way to lower Sam’s defences, because he _did_ mean it as it sounded.

“I just meant, you know, having a cooked, warm meal, would be _odes_ better than this cold, slimy crap.”  He revised, waving his hands because what he said made sense, did it not?  “I mean, even you have to understand _that_.”  Dean said, meaning no disregard to the shark but Sam’s face clouded with mild annoyance at Dean’s words.

Sam did not.  “No, I don’t.”  Sam spat out with a finite tone and Dean glared at the side of Sam’s face when the shark turned away from him.  How _dare_ this impudent shark go against such common sense?

Dean would much rather starve than have to swallow such low grade, poor quality food; any mer with a right mind would get that!  How could the shark not understand such a simple - oh; Sam’s probably never had a cooked meal in his life.

The mer felt a flush of shame spread across his cheeks and he rubbed at his arm, feeling the silence over them like a thick blanket.  He _probably_ needs to think before he speaks with Sam, and maybe take into consideration the vastly different lives they’ve lived before laughing at the shark’s simplicity.

Guess the first thing to do when he takes Sam into town, aside from getting Sam actually into the town, will be showing him what a proper meal is.  Some stores should sell fish; not all mers were purely herbivorous.  It’s just special to sharks to actually eat _mers_ , making them the only feared carnivore-fishfolk out there.  “Yes, well, uhm.”  Dean stumbled over what to say, the shark’s arms crossed and head still facing the side, adamantly not looking at Dean.  “We should get some rest.  Veriport’s a day away,” he settles on, curling down onto the poorly fashioned bed of kelp and sand and frowning at the texture.  Sam seemed much more _relaxed_ \- if the shark could ever be referred to as relaxed - on their faux beds, and Dean gave one last stare at the turned away shark.

“Remember,” Dean reminds him, “We have a deal.”

“I do.”  Sam said, and that was that.

-

It was sometime after dawn when Dean woke, shocking to conscious from a rather unpleasant dream of teeth and black, black eyes and the first thought he had was to check if Sam was still there.  Which the shark was, still there, in quite literally the same position and place.

Had he slept at all?  “Did you get any sleep?”  Dean asked, stretching with a yawn, elbows cracking and spine popping.

“No.”  Sam quipped, eyes far gazing through the kelp and the mer tilted his head at Sam.  What’s the point in finding a resting spot if one hadn’t planned on actually _resting,_ as the name implied.

“And you didn’t rest, because?”  Dean asked, dragging the word on with spread hands and Sam _finally_ turned to face him.  It was almost unnerving having those hazel eyes focus all their attention on him.

“We’re in the Open Waters,” Sam said, gesturing to the ocean around them, “A term I’ve heard your kind use once or twice.”  The shark managed to say that with the most spite, and Dean almost flinched.  “And to my very vast knowledge of this area it’s that you don’t sleep unless you absolutely must.”

Dean stared at Sam, digesting the words before shrugging them off with the carelessness that only came from facing little to no strife in one’s life.  He had been sleeping every night for the good four days he had been following the shark, and he’s still fine.  He mentioned as such, “I’ve been alright.”  
  
“You’ve been lucky.”  Sam says back as fast.

And doesn’t the shark just feel like the most chipper conversationalist today?  At least the awkwardness from yesterday’s failed conversation was gone.  “I think I’m both.”  Dean said with a lazy shrug, gathering his supplies into his satchel.  The shark was more or less paranoid, to Dean’s knowledge.  The Open Waters were just as he said; open waters.  Dean had heard tales of what lay out here all his life, of the sea dragons and beasts beyond the mind’s imagination and yet all he had met thus far was a grumpy shark, which, though exactly what he was looking for, wasn’t so impressive.  Mostly it’s been empty ocean and simple fish.  Dean figures he could manage easy if he wasn’t unsettled by his supplies running low, or gone, in his case currently.

“Alrighty then, enough chit chat, time to head out.”  Dean said as he swam up, moving towards Sam with hands that motioned for the shark to get a move on.

The shark stared up at Dean for a moment, wondering first, why he even had to go into the town.  What was the point of dragging him in when being surrounded by his own species should be enough protection for Dean, Sam would only be a hindrance there.  Except, Dean was still in his face more or less and attempting to coax him off the sand floor.

“Must I come with?”  Sam griped, getting up with a huff and Dean nodded with an annoying grin that the shark wanted to wipe off the mer’s face.  

“What if I get mauled in town?” Dean unsupportedly proposes.

“What if I _want_ you to get mauled?”  Sam retorts, surprisingly chatty right now and Dean tutted.

“We have a _deal._ ”  Dean sing songed, swaying this way and that around Sam and the shark bit his tongue.  Thankfully the muscle was thicker than most fishfolk, or otherwise he’d be bleeding out, and it served as a good substitute as he envisioned biting into the little shit of a mermaid.

Dean took Sam’s silence as his compliance and carried on swimming out of their nice little spot.  The bags strap secured around his shoulder, he carefully made his way through the kelp keeping the area hidden from most eyes and snickering as Sam took time to eye the green plant before maneuvering his large body through the accursed plant.

“C’mon, Sam, Veriport’s _close_ but not so close you can get there by swimming in one place.”  Dean says as he watches Sam take more time than necessary to exit around the plant.  Or maybe he took the right amount of time and Dean was simply being impatient.  With fingers twitching from excess energy, he was ready to get this probable trainwreck of a show on the road.  So many things to get done and though, Dean didn’t exactly have a deadline to get any of it done, but the sooner started - the better.

Sam didn’t bother answering, grunting his acknowledgement of Dean’s impatience.  Dean just shrugged at Sam’s lack of speech skills, looking behind only once to make sure Sam was following him before pulling out his map.

“So, according to my not-so-great map reading skills we’ll be _terribly_ lost rather soon,” Dean tried for humour but Sam just stared ahead, not even a twitch of almost-fear because what if Dean _was_ terrible at reading maps?  “If we keep heading in this direction we’ll reach Veriport in a day you quiet dick.”  Dean muttered the rest, squinting at the unimpressed curve of brow on Sam’s face.

Impressively enough, the rest of the swim to the trading town was spent in silence, the only noise was the scurrying of fish upon spotting Sam, or Dean’s occasional innately loud comment on the ocean flora.  Beautiful flowers and plants, all of the odd shapes and sizes swaying in the water surrounded by coral and interesting swells of rocks, and the reef became more and more apparent as they neared the village.

Veriport was an almost lovely little thing on the edge of the Open Waters, home to fishfolk who’d rather escape the confines of the Declared Waters or just those who liked the thrill of living close to the oceans - unguarded and unkempt.  Dean himself was none of these, he liked knowing the oceans he swam were safe and that he’d nothing to worry about.

From their vantage point they could spot the coming and going of fishfolk already, home’s counting over a hundred and it seems Veriport has grown since Dean last visited.  Shopkeepers could be heard shouting out their goods and children’s gleeful squeals accompanied by exhausted looking parents and oh, how Dean’s missed the look of civilization.  He felt giddy at the thought of a cooked meal and decent conversation.  He had been out in the Open Waters for some time by himself before running into Sam, and the shark wasn’t the most delightful to converse with.

Sam, for his part, felt dread swell tight and quick in his chest.  His excellent hearing and vision allowed him more of the town.  The shark couldn’t quite recall a single time he’s ever been to any town, or city, or been so close to such a cultivation of mers.  He felt an unease, passive expression telling nothing unless one was to look hard enough to notice the subtle twitching of Sam’s pupil.  It threatened to swell black with his sudden undue stress and he flexed his hand.  He heard distant laughter, a joyous sound in child’s pitch.  He didn’t want to be surrounded by that.

“Can I not wait out here?”  He asked in a strangely out of place voice and Dean turned a questioning gaze his way.

“That, according to our deal, and my wanting you there, would be a - not.  But, It’s better safe than sorry.”  Dean supplied, eyeing Sam curiously before shrugging it off as the shark being antisocial.  Which Sam was, to some extent, being, but he was a _shark_.  He wasn’t equipped with the social skills nor care to deal with fishfolk outside of scaring them or at the rare moment; eating them.  Those weren’t exactly shining recommendations to speak with others.

“I don’t wholly think of this as a good idea.”  Sam admitted.

“And I _wholly_ think of this as a magnanimous idea,”  Dean said, swimming up to Sam’s face.  “Besides, it’s in and out.  We need some clothes, and I need some food.  Unlike _you,_ I can’t just pluck some random fish from it’s poor existence for substance.”  Although Sam didn’t know what the last word really meant, he figured it was some fancy term for food and glared through his bangs at Dean.

“Aside from not knowing what magnanimanass means, I can watch from the sidelines.”  He said, this time with more aggression and Dean just scoffed.

“Well, aside from your atrocious rendition of me saying magnanimous, Nuh uh, big guy, you’re coming with me.”  Dean said, patting Sam’s cheek and Sam _couldn’t_ quite hold back the black eyes, snarl on his face before he could stop it and Dean was crudely reminded that Sam was, indeed, a shark.  Something that survived off eating other living beings much like himself and he gave a nervous chuckle, pulling his hand back but managing to somehow, with whatever scraps of bravery he had, stand his ground against Sam.

“Look, I can’t buy you any clothes if you’re not there.  And who knows, they may have some snacks you could enjoy.”  Some merfolk ate fish.  There had to be something there Sam could eat, he was sure, and though Sam very slowly, and very jerkily, nodded his head in agreement, his black eyes kept.  They were kind of fucking terrifying and Dean pursed his lips.

“Though you might have to, uhm, well, the eye thing?”  He said, gesturing to his own eyes and Sam blinked a few times, the black disappearing amongst the flutter and Dean was glad to see hazel hues again.  Though the snarl was much slower to go away, teeth still very much visible and Dean swallowed at the shiny whites of practical death.

Swimming back a pace Dean eyed Sam up and down, the obviously displeased expression would pass, but the whole grey tail and tall tell fins thing?  Dean would have to be at his charming best.  Sam though, looked as if he had been out to the open sea for much too long, long hair tangled and wild and Dean frowned.

“Just, - uh, keep quiet,” not that that’d be hard for Sam, “And stay close.”  Dean said, straightening himself up and taking a deep breath.  This far out from the capital he was sure he’d be fine to be out in the open.  Veriport wasn’t too knowledgeable of Atlantis’ comings and goings; they liked to consider themselves a free town.

“Alright.”  Dean said to the water, because Sam certainly wouldn’t bother to reply, and began to head to the villages entrance.  There were two fishfolk posted there, looking more like volunteers than actual guards and Dean cracked his neck.  Getting his smile ready Dean kept right in front of Sam, doing a poor job of keeping the shark covered but it would keep most of the attention on Dean for now.  Which was all he needed.

“Hello there my good friends of Veriport!”  Dean greeted with a wave, Sam hot on his trail as they neared the gates and the two fishfolk turned with lazy, yet still bright, eyes to face them.

First, the first reactions were good, falling upon Dean’s glittering emerald scales and cheerful smile.  Secondly, not so much when just behind him shadowed the figure of a large bull shark who looked less than pleased about life and for all they knew, quite hungry for a hankering slab of mer.

“I-is that a-” one started to stutter out, hands dropping the flimsy staff they were holding and giving them no time to say anything else Dean shot forward, arms wrapping around both their necks and dragging the confused fishfolk close.  His grin was forced as he kept them in his tight grip.

“Now now, this is my dear - _Friend_ , Sam, and yes, I know,” he said this with a bowed head, chuckling and the mer’s he was holding onto had the decency to look very confused by the whole scenario, “I know he’s a _shark,_ but that’s not such a bad thing, now is it?”  Dean said as he looked amongst the two and the large one, a red koi of sorts, looked especially estranged from the situation.

It had been some time since she’s heard of a shark, let alone actually _seeing_ one.  She knew some villagers said they spotted one nearby the past few weeks but they and the rest of the town guard threw it out as superstition.  Everyone knew since Atlantis decreed the species as vulgar beasts, they had more or less vanished into the Open Waters; lest they be hunted by the Royal Army.  

“We don’t want to get judgmental before we even open our mouths, right?”  Dean asked, and the koi mer looked to him, “That sounds like a very royal thing to do right, judge without listening, and last time I checked, you guys are out here to be so much different, and better, way better I add, than the royals who judge my dear friend - the shark here - without hearing us out first.”.

It was a law to report a sighting of a shark, and she hadn’t a clue whether or not she should as she never had been in the position to debate doing so.  And she _didn’t_ want to jump to conclusions just yet, as the green mer stated - not to mention her own town was more or less a free one.  They didn’t have to abide the Declared Waters laws.  Besides, this shark looked harmless enough, albeit upset, though judging by the mer tugging her close, she couldn’t blame the guy.  Plus, she was curious for the time being.

However; despite how normal this shark may appear - and, wow, are they bigger than she thought, she also only had the stories she’s heard to really know of them.  She herself has only seen one or two, and the last was dragged out the village by guards that happened to be nearby when the bull was preying on a child mer who strayed too far.  Her knowledge was that they were carnivorous creatures lacking in mannerisms of any kind, and tended to make mers who saw them rather dead like, and that is what she went with formally, grated in with some doubtful salt.

“Don’t sharks have this little tendency to ear mers?”  She asked, leaning back to try and look in the eyes of the green mer but the annoying bugger had his averted to the shark.

On Sam’s front, he wasn’t too offended by that.  It wasn’t like he made it a habit, it was more of a kneejerk reaction from being alone all these years, than anything.  No one can blame him.  Not to mention he’s only ever resorted to eating mers when they wouldn’t just leave him alone, like any normal, _sane_ mer would.  When he went to attack Dean, well, that was a fluke.  And he wasn’t actually aiming to eat him.  

Sam liked to think he was capable of that differentiation.

“Well not this one!”  Dean said to her, breaking the momentary silence, cheery and patting her speckled cheek.  She looked to have little appreciation for that and Sam almost smirked.

“What?”  The fishfolk puzzled in unison.

“He’s changed!  Revised, all new and improved, with a fish-only diet; no mers allowed!”  With this he waved his hands about in an intricate manner, even though his arms were still hooked around the mer’s necks.  The girl with a grunt wrenched out of his grip, short red hair flowing about in odd angles before settling as she gave a wide eyed stare between Sam and Dean.  Dean held the blue merman closer and Sam only gave a somewhat awkward shrug under her gaze.

“He - _doesn’t_ want to eat us?”  She wants cleared up, tentative and unsure and Dean nodded.  That wasn’t like what she’s heard - or seen, and although this guy looked trusting enough, she still threw a suspicious gaze Sam’s way.  Sam was feeling just slightly uncomfortable under her speculating eyes - under _anyone’s,_ really, but the spectacle before him was enough a distraction from the possible judgment being sent his way, and he managed to tune out the slowly rising anxiety.

“Yup!  He’s told me before how much he _hates_ the taste of mer-meat.”  Which, while true, is a total lie coming from Dean seeing as they had only officially met yesterday.

“He _also_ explained to me how sharks just aren’t that into the whole ‘eating mers’ thing anymore, crazy, but true,”  Dean said, waving his hands and saying it as if it was no big deal and the honest truth and not a lie pulled from his nether regions just now.

“Wait, what?”  The blue mer Dean was still holding close spoke up, confused and the red mer shared his befuddled look.

“Go on, - tell them, Sam.”  Dean said, ignoring the mer in his arm and frowning when it finally freed itself from his grip and immediately hid behind the red mer.  Eyeing the shark and Dean with wary suspicion, whereas the red mer - Lana, her name, not that they know, was juggling what Dean had said in her mind.

It could be true, and it could also not.  The implications of that not would be a hefty price to pay, and so she turned full attention to the shark.  Interested in what he had to say.  And mostly, because she hadn’t known previous shark’s even _could_ speak, the last was mostly muttering gibberish as the Royal Army subdued it.  Nothing much from that instance to pull any _real_ knowledge of sharks on.

Now, Sam was able to maintain himself under two sets of eyes, but when all the attention turned to him he stiffened up.  His eyes minutely widened, shoulders straightening and his gut tightened.  Oh, this was.  Uncomfortable.  He flicked a nervous gaze from Dean to the confused yet intrigued onlookers.  

“I -,” Sam started, painfully unsure of what to say and that only worsened when Dean’s face subtly twitched at the lack of words that apparently were supposed to come from Sam.  Did he look like some kind of public speaker?  Or a speaker at all for that matter?  It made him angry at Dean, and he bit his tongue.

“You?”  All three pushed on and Sam’s heart thumped and he felt the urge to rip into something.  Dean seemed to be fed up by Sam just floating there, mouth opening and closing, each time more teeth showing and the green mer rolled his eyes.  Swimming back up to Sam he took careful notice of the twitching hands, the near imperceptible flex of pupil and he ensured the attention was off the shark.  So apparently Sam did jack under people’s attention.  Well wouldn’t that just be dandy to deal with later.

“He’s a little shy, but who isn’t with strangers?”  Dean said with a breathless chuckle, being careful to keep an eye behind him on the ever agitated shark as he attempted to keep all eyes on him.

Lana bit her lower lip, shrugging Mark, the blue mer, off of her as she drew up her confidence.  She was always a curious type, and having not gathered much info on sharks, and having such a reserved - to an extent - specimen right in front of her, well, she couldn’t quite hold her tongue.  She had questions.  “Can he talk?”  Spouted out, and the shark quirked a brow.  He seemed almost offended.  Which was strange, as throughout this he hadn’t shown much in leeway of emotion, his face passive and eyes carrying a strange dullness to them, as if forced.  

“No, I was given this mouth like thing at the front of my face, just to shovel food into.  Yes, that means, I can.”  Sam mustered finally, because he could speak perfectly fine and having the assumption thrown his way he _couldn’t,_ irked him.

“Oh.”  Lana said, shock raising her eyebrows and even Dean turned an impressed look Sam’s way.  Maybe he just needed to downgrade the shark to get him to public speak.

“Do you-”

“Sam.  My name’s Sam.”  He bit out without letting her finish and Lana felt embarrassed.  Although she had little to none information of sharks to go off, this Sam had the very aura of someone whose intelligence was just challenged and obviously had the brains to combat said belittlement.  Her cheeks flushed.  Sam simply seemed very unimpressed.  Dean, however, was very much preening with this interaction.

“And I’m _Dean_ , now that we have our little introductions out of the way how about you guys let us in?”  Dean asked, breaking the static glare between Sam and Lana.  He liked having all the attention on him, unlike Sam, and quite frankly, thrived on it.

“H-hold it, we don’t even know where you guys come from.”  Mark, the more skittish of the two guards, finally spoke up.  Dean narrowed his eyes minutely at the blue mer, knowing the question was more directed at Sam than anything.

“Of course, how could I forget?  I’m from Atlantis, and this big guy comes from - The, uh,” Dean didn’t actually know _where_ Sam came from.  Just, the Open Waters, or do they have some little villages out there?

“I come from the Open Waters.”  Sam said for him, quietly behind Dean and the green mer nodded with that.

“Yes, the Open Waters.  You know, where you guys like to say you’re from so if anything I’d say we’re all practically family!”  Dean cheered out, risking an arm slung over Sam’s shoulder and was ever thankful the shark was much too focused on glaring the mers that belittled him to nothing more than a beast to notice.

The mer guards looked unsure, looking to each other and Mark spoke first.

“Lana?”  

“I - Guess?”  She said, biting her lower lip and not at all sure where she stood in this.  The two seemed to be for the most part, harmless, and strange.  Very strange.  And although the companion was a shark, he seemed aware of himself, more than many of the fishfolk she herself knew.  Or maybe she was feeling guilty for assuming the shark - Sam, her mind corrected, was no smarter than a mindless fish.

“That’s just great, you guys are _awesome,_ really, we won’t be troublesome!”  Dean said, grabbing at Sam’s wrist without thought and dragging the rather heavy shark between the two into the village.

“Wait I didn’t-” Lana began, turning to stop them but Dean flashed her a bright grin from behind Sam, turning over his shoulder to wave at her.

“In n’ out, easy peasy.”  Dean sing songed, and she couldn’t quite muster the courage to stop them.

After they disappeared from sight Mark looked to her with a nervous gulp.

“Think we’ll be off guard duty after this?”

“Yes.”  She said with a sigh.  She likes guard duty too, and tosses herself a hopeful maybe life line that probably won’t float, but it’s better than sinking holding onto nothing at all, “Unless, all the screaming mers we’re likely going to hear, are just cheering the shark on as he hopefully swims by without any mer parts stuck between those massively sharp teeth.”

-

“Alright, Sam, welcome to your first town!”  Dean said with as much excitement as a child who just got told they were getting that pet they’ve always wanted and Sam couldn’t quite share it.

There were fishfolk all over, rushing this way and that and all going about such normal lives that Sam was feeling out of place - painfully so.  There were children, mothers and fathers, shops and friends and family and all _talking_ and they were going to notice him any second and run and be frightened and he was okay with that, he was.  But that didn’t take away the anxiety filling his lungs and though he didn’t like Dean at all he stuck closer, practically gluing himself to the mer’s side and finding minimal comfort in Dean’s hand that was still clasped around his wrist.  It grounded him, almost.

“Dean.”  He said, voice oddly high strung and Dean looked up at him.  The mer was confused at how close Sam was, realizing how _big_ the shark was this close up and fidgeting away just an inch.

“Yeah?”  Dean asked, almost concerned but then suddenly the sweet smell of a properly cooked meal wafted by, distracting and he turned away from the steadily panicking shark.  He tugged at the shark’s wrist, careful to weave through the crowd and Veriport really _had_ grown since he’s last been here.  No one noticed them yet, all far too distracted with their own goings and as long as Sam kept this close it should stay that way a little longer.

He weaved through the crowd of shoppers, following the scent and practically _preening_ at the sight of seasoned kelp that was just sauteed to perfection.  Now _this_ was the kelp he’d eat.  Locally grown, flavoured, and cooked the right way.  Wasn’t the expensive meals he was used too but far better than raw kelp simply growing out in the middle of nowhere.

“Do you smell that, Sam?”  Dean asked, gesturing to the food stand and the mers around it.  Sam’s eyes cautiously followed their trail to the various plants on the heated surface, red heat glowing off the smooth rock as the food bubbled and popped on it.  It looked appetizing enough, for a mer, and maybe it would look more so if Sam _wasn’t_ currently panicking.

“Now _that’s_ food, and all these lovely fishfolk would agree with me.”  He said, releasing Sam’s wrist to cross his arms in triumph and Sam couldn’t muster the proper irritation to counter it.  “Anyways, I am _starving_ so let’s order something for me real quick.”

With that said the mer began to butt his way to the front, those swimming by turning to gripe at Dean before going stock silent at the sight _behind_ the green mer.  Dean, not quite noticing was talking to the back of the chef, already spilling out his order without bothering to look at the menu and Sam pressed close because there it was - the feel of eyes, boring at him, _in him_ , and he bit his tongue.  He wanted to bite them, lash out and make them look away because yes he was a shark, pardon the judgmental eyes please.

But he didn’t, unable to turn his head to look at them all, mostly because he found it hard to breathe.  One to three mers he could handle, he’s never _had_ to handle anything more, but Dean’s dragged him to town and Sam wasn’t prepared for this.  So much life around him, all happy and alive and _normal_ and he could leave.  He could leave right now and forget all about the deal but Sam liked to consider himself a shark of his word and threw that thought out.

“Dean.”  He said with quiet urgency to the mer’s back, but Dean was busy talking to the cook who was nodding to the request and Sam needed Dean to look.  Dean could take care of the mer crowd slowly gathering, could hush the whispers and sway their eyes away because he was a mer, it shouldn’t be hard.  Or maybe Sam was grasping at straws right now trying to look to Dean for help, the mer not paying much attention or even remotely _noticing_ the crowd about them.

Which, how could he not?  Sam’s ears twitched as he heard their whispers, children being hushed by parents and some older mers wondering if they should call the town guard and Sam hunched his shoulders.  He didn’t like this and Dean was so focused on ordering food and Sam was closer to snapping their onlookers into at least two pieces.

“ _Dean_.”  He tried again, risking a grab at Dean’s shoulder and he practically felt the crowd gasp as a kid shouted out,

“Watch out!”  

And then a pair of small hands were on his caudal fin, trying to pull him away from Dean and the stall and Sam turned within seconds, eyes black and teeth bared and he was ready to attack whatever had the gall to touch him.  His frenzied eyes landed on a small child, orange and yellow finned ears flattening in fear as the child whimpered, hands flying off of Sam’s large tail fin and shying back to their mother within instances of seeing the sharp teeth and hunter eyes.

Sam didn’t care it was a child, _it_ touched him, grabbed at him and he wanted to to bite and snap and he was shaking with bloodlust, anxiety at an alltime peak and Dean shouldn’t have brought him here, he wasn’t meant for society.  He wasn’t equipped to deal with mers and talking and towns and he wanted out, he wanted to go.  Nay, he needed to go.

The crowd was a wave of panicked mumbles, backing away with a few brave ones holding their ground and Sam turned to look at them all, hands twitching, body ready to strike at any moment and all he could think of was killing and eating but then emerald was in his face.

“Woah, woah there, easy now.”  Dean said, suddenly between them and hands held up in submission.  He turns around for _one_ measly little second and Sam’s already got half the town and then some terrified?  This was more work than Dean was originally bargaining for, then again, he didn’t really figure this was going to be easy to begin with.  He just liked to believe those little day dreams telling him that dragging a shark through the entire very much populated Declared Waters would be easy.  Like a cross ocean family fun trip that actually was, as fun as stated.

“Don’t ‘woah’ us, that shark almost ate my daughter!”  Outraged the mother, holding her little girl close while the town agreed.  More mer in better equipped gear started to emerge from the crowd, holding very sharp halberds and giving them less than pleasant looks.  

“Now now, what kind of child goes forth to touch a stranger?”  Dean asked them, omitting the obvious word choice for Sam - that being _shark_ \- as he kept an eye mostly on the guards and their solemn faces. They looked far less easy to trick than the one’s at the gate, wearing armour and having quite the deadly amount of weaponry at their disposal, Dean figured they wouldn’t fall for his warm smiles and open arms, so readily.  Eyeing the tips of their axes mounted on spears nervously, he swallowed and pressed one hand to Sam’s chest, flat and shocking at the fine tremble going through the shark’s body.  He placed it there merely to hold Sam back, if the shark decided to ignore the obvious danger of weaponry, and finally glanced a look back at him.

Sam looked odd.  The shark’s eyes were returning from black, hazel hues having an air of almost devastation to them as his snarl had long since been replaced by a quivering frown.

The shark was very much panicking.  His heart thudded painfully against his ribs, and the blood rushes like a distancing torrent echo as he looked down at Dean’s palm flat on his chest.  His movements felt slow, and although he was a predator of a mighty prowess, right now everything felt like a slush.  He wanted to attack, but mostly, he wanted to hide away from the mother and the child.  He didn’t care about the others, or even Dean, but her protective clasp on her daughter and accusatory eyes that he, very much, did.

“Guys, look at that face, does that look like a cold blooded I’m-going-to-eat-your-child killer’s face?”  Dean said, feeling almost guilty for using Sam’s apparent shame to his advantage.  The crowd didn’t buy it.

“We’re gonna need you to move aside.”  The guards said.  And though they were far from the opposing figures of the Royal Army, they did quite a right job at pretend.    

Dean managed to hold his ground, thinking on something, anything he could use.  The fishfolk here lived on the very edge of the Declared Waters, and had grown up hearing stories of sharks and their ferocity, how they had no brains and were heartless monsters, hell bent on eating you and yours.  He knew that nothing he could say would do much to dent that without having Sam show the crowd what a proper gent he was.  Though after lunging at a child, well, that wouldn’t quite work, now would it.

Dean reached his free hand into his bag, sighing inwardly because he didn’t want to have to use this trump card so early in the game, but he needed supplies before this town ever so rudely throws them out and Sam wouldn’t be much help at all in any verbal sense of proving his worth.

“And I’m gonna have to tell you now, I can’t do that.  See, I’m on a, uh, _royal_ mission.”  Dean said, pulling from his bag the Royal Seal.  It was something he nicked from Atlantis before hightailing it out to the Open Waters, knowing that one way or another, this thing might be of some use.  The sight of the sea dragon crest had the guards startled, some of the crowd murmuring their suspicion of the authenticity of it.  Oh, it was real alright.

Gaining confidence, Dean went to move forward, almost knocked clean from his proverbial high horse when Sam was holding onto his arm, clasping the wrist with shaking fingers and Dean guessed he’d have to do his antics from here then.

“See this beautiful little guy?”  He said, gesturing to the crest and the guards gave him unsure looks, “That’s right, this is one bonafide _royal_ crest, you know, those things used to signify _royal_ missions decreed by _royalty_ , and though, you guys _are_ just that smidgen to the right of the Declared Waters, it’s to my knowledge you guys still call upon the _Royal Army_ for help at times, is that correct?”

“Yes?”  One guard said, dragging the vowel on because it was true; they liked to call their town free of the kingdom and it’s decrees, but there has been cases in the past - one shark related even - where they reached out to Atlantis for help.  In a small, but still very much enforceable way, Atlantis had a pull on them.  And if this mer _was_ on a royal mission, for whatever reason with a shark, then Veriport did not want to get involved.  They wished to stay out of Atlantis’ and its dealings as much as possible, and Dean took their silence for initiative to keep going.

“Now, knowing how much you guys just love your freedom, we wouldn’t want to in any way deter me from my very important, and need I remind, royal mission, now would we?”  Dean said, ending with a very much snark filled grin, and felt proper triumph as the guards all faltered where they were, hands twitching nervously around their weapons and even the crowd started to look less and less wanting to be involved with this, although the mother still held her fierce glare.

“If this mission is sent from the capital, then why would they wish your travelling companion a shark?  I thought they were all banned.”  She demanded, and Dean sighed as he shot her an annoyed look, because her words made some of the crowd regain their confidence and just - boo to that.  
  
“They’re being inclusive.”  Dean said with barely detectable sarcasm.  “‘Sides, I’ll have you know I’m pretty high up in the food chain, lady, and what better way to keep my ever so important self safe then well, a shark bodyguard?”  With this he pat his hand on the still not quite in the right head space shark, risking it and thankfully, Sam was still out of it too snap at that like he did at the child’s innocent touch.  “He was merely demonstrating his very good protecting skills to your child, who really, should’ve known better than to waltz up to strangers and tug at them- just what are you teaching that child?”  He derailed, expertly moving some of the blame onto her and she visibly looked caught by that.

“If you’re such a good mother, maybe you should let your kid know that stranger-mer’s shouldn’t be messed with, I mean, sharks aren’t the _only_ fishfolk capable of evil.”  And that he said with a half shrug, one shoulder still held back by Sam’s clinging grip and he moved to press his palm more firmly against Sam, trying to soothe the shark at least a little because he can’t do all the work here.  Sam needs to be presentable and looking down wide eyed at Dean’s arm wasn’t really it.

On Sam’s currently sunshine and rainbows front, the shark was barely regaining himself.  Everyone’s eyes were finally averted from him, thankfully, and though he still couldn’t really hear much right now, the lack of focus on him was honestly helping.  He had a tight grip on Dean’s arm, breath ragged and he just put all his effort into his heart beat, keeping the need to _attackkilleat_ at bay as best he could because he made a deal and that was what was going to keep him sane currently.  He wasn’t really a fan of the whole black-out feeding frenzy mode that so easily was pulled from him, but then again, if anything, he blamed his current panic attack on Dean for dragging him to this bloody town in the first place.  He told Dean this wasn’t a good idea, it really, really, wasn’t, but the annoying and ever-confident mer ignored his crystal clear logic.

_But_ , if he focused on that he’d began to get angry, and getting angry while surrounded by very edible and scared mers barely on the brink of listening to Dean would be a very bad idea.  More like blood bath ‘sorry I ate everyone, is the deal off, okay thanks bye’ bad.  And even when Sam would enjoy that route, he made a deal, and although he wasn’t quite too sure on why keeping to his word was so important to him, it was.  Maybe it was the one redeemable quality sharks of his kind had, or maybe it was because he always tried to be the more civilized shark, to a hair widths degree, at least.  It didn’t mean he ever wanted to go to towns and integrate with the common populace of merfolk, though.

With one last deep breath Sam looked at the crowd, not really seeing them or the guards or the weapons because he put all of his focus on Dean’s head, and maybe envisioned punching the shit out of him for putting him in this position.  Sam wasn’t too good at holding himself back, and right now, he was on his shiny best behaviour mode, or as he liked to call it, I’m-on-the-brink-of-eating-everyone-you-love mode.  It wasn’t a fun one, but where he was right now would at least hold him at a somewhat, _presentable_ level.  With that thought, he released Dean’s wrist and squared his shoulders, moving to his full height and pretending there wasn’t a crowd and he was by himself and that everything was dandy.

“So, lovely mother lady over there, if we should be pointing fins at anyone, shouldn’t it be the mer who never taught her daughter not to mess with strangers?”  Dean said, finalizing the social noose and the mother grit her teeth, before disappearing into the crowd, ashamed and dragging her daughter along with her.  Dean believes he won that one, and looked to the guards.

“Now that that’s out of the way, why don’t we move along to the point you guys are currently stopping me from completing my _royal_ duty, and I believe I deserve compensation for the time wasted, lest I of course, contact the nobles of Atlantis, and my mission is very, very important.”  He stopped, glad he could use his other arm to cross them, one hand flippantly raising to gesture to them all and what looked to be the town’s guard captain, visibly swallowed.  Smirking, Dean went in for the kill.  “I don’t think they’d be too pleased with you guys for putting such a strain on my mission, now would they?”

Three, two, one, and bingo.

“Look, we don’t want any trouble.”  The captain threw out, fast and worried and Dean jutted his chin out, cocky grin in place and although the mer wanted nothing more than to throw them out, she’d rather not risk her town’s safety to Atlantis’ at times, cruel punishments.

“Of course you guys don’t.”  Dean couldn’t help but say, and he loved watching the irritation flare up in her blue eyes, hands tightening around her halberd and oh, this was fun.  Dean has missed his word play games.

“But, although you are on a royal mission, your - _guard_ ,” she struggled to get out, “Endangered one of our children’s lives.  Do you expect us to merely let that transgression slide?”

“Oh, of course not, my _guard,_ ” ensuring he was looking her right in the eye as he said it, “Simply hasn’t slept well.  We have been out in the Open Waters for some time now.  And who knows, me being a very important person, this child could’ve been something else entirely.  I believe he was in his jurisdiction to act first, you know, to keep me safe.”  Dean said with a painfully casual tone, shrugging her accusations to the side and although it was fun to poke fun at her, he would have to draw it back now.

“We were simply coming here for supplies for our journey, we didn’t want to cause any trouble.  However, if you guys just so happen to be willing, to just, _donate_ what we need, well, we’ll be on our way and it’ll be like this never even happened.”  Dean swam towards the Guard Captain, one hand outstretched as if to shake on it and she merely glared at it.  Does anyone want to shake his hand?  No matter, he immediately shifted to folding his arms behind his back, straightening and looking to Sam who looked out of place and stone cold _not_ focused on anything and if that gets him working with Dean’s plan then Dean could care less.

“So?  Seems fair, doesn’t it?”  Dean said, turning back to her and by now most of the crowd were being told to move along by the guards, their entirety surrounded by the somewhat diligent soldiers.  Dean wasn’t feeling threatened.

“I…”  The Captain trailed off, nervous to make a deal with this stranger and although he held a royal seal, she wasn’t too sure if she could trust them.  They could have just as easily killed a messenger or - oh, she didn’t know, they could be a number of things.  But there was another point to be had is that her recruits were _not_ trained to fight a great white.  She hailed from a history of training, but they were volunteers and newbies, she couldn’t expect them to subdue a shark with the efficiency of the Royal Army and not come to a subtotal of a fuck ton of casualties.

“Times ticking and I’m starting to think contacting Atlantis seems to be my only option after this whole debacle.”  Dean trailed off, getting her attention back and she knew that whether or not they were telling the truth - it wasn’t worth fighting.  Give the crazies what they want and send them on their way.  That was her best option.

“Give us a list of what you’ll need and we will get it to you by sundown.”  She said with closed eyes, defeat heavy on her shoulders and then the mer had the gall to pat her shoulder, giving her this _grin_ that she’d be ever so happy to smash as she held her temper at bay.

“You made the right choice, really.”  Dean somewhat consoled, swimming back to Sam and noticing that he was still kind of creepily stoic and Dean figured he would have to get the big guy some quiet time real soon.  “So before I write anything I’ll need a quiet place to do so, as Sam here needs some rest.  You wouldn’t happen to have a nice area we could have ourselves a short break in?”  He asked her, one hand moving to rest on the very tense arm of Sam and pat it for emphasis.

“There’s an inn, but I’d rather you-”

“Oh, a inn sounds like the perfect place to rest!”  Dean ever so rudely cut her off, not caring for whatever prejudice she’d spout and just to add insult to the wound of forcing her to listen to his request he pushed forward, struggling a moment to get Sam to follow his movements.  “And another thing, if we can get ourselves an escort there that’d be _great_ , wouldn’t want another confused little mer trying to tug at my guard’s fins, now would we?  Oh, also, maybe clear out the inn, we’ll need privacy.”  He was perhaps pushing for too much, but it wasn’t like this was too much a request to have, or out of the ordinary of things Dean was used to receiving.

The guard captain, obviously, had some preconceived notions against clearing out the entirety of the inn just so the two could have a little privacy, but then she looked to her guards, and their wide, frightened eyes, and then to the shark who didn’t look the slightest as if he was aware of the current happenings - and then, she looked to to the green mer who had cornered her.  She wanted to hit him.

“Fine.”  She relinquished, and ordered a few of her men to go get the inn cleared out for the two when she’d much rather they go to her office and _not_ bother the townsfolk anymore but the mer was demanding and seemed to be used to getting his way.  Perhaps he really was with the nobles, much of his mannerisms and pomposity resembling that of noble brats and spoiled children.  The others worked on clearing out the streets for the meanwhile, as she herself personally escorted the odd strangers to their destination.

“Easy peasy, Sam, easy peasy.” Dean cheerfully muttered under his breath to the shark who turned void eyes to him and maybe Dean felt a little bad for throwing him into this without any preemptive preparation.  “It’ll be quiet, I made sure.  And you can get some sleep.  It’ll be safe.”  He said in a much softer tone, hand holding onto Sam’s arm gentling its grip to a soothing rub and some life returned to his exhausted eyes at that.  There, that’ll rid of Dean’s minor guilt.

Sam meanwhile felt very dull, emotionally spent and was honestly looking forward to sleep.  Though he didn’t trust Dean’s word on what was a ‘safe’ place to sleep, it was a nice lie to nod his head too.  And if he just focused on Dean’s hand on his arm he wouldn’t have to think of all the onlookers and harsh judgement being whispered about him.  He’d just focus on Dean’s hand.  He was tired.


	3. royals arent so tasty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> look a chapter oh boi

It didn’t take too long for the inn to be cleared out, most merfolk quite willingly ditching out with their belongings clutched close upon hearing the words ‘royals’ and ‘great white’.  Dean figures they weren’t really a fan favourite here, and even with their suspicion of the authenticity of his very much real, and very much _stolen_ , badge, they still listened without question.

Still, in the emptied inn, he gives an accomplished grin.  Feels good to get his way, really, and he stretches his arms wide and lets out a satisfied breath.  He knows he’s good at getting what he wants, even if the feeling is slightly dampened by the glooming shark glued to his side currently.  No worries, however, this moment is his and the shark will get over the shell shock - Dean did get him a quiet place to rest, afterall.  

“Alrighty then, Sam, you can just,” he trails off, yanking his arm out of Sam’s grip, “Go on over to the corner and, hum, _brood_ or whatever it is you like doing.  And _I’ll_ focus on the important bits.”  With that he motions to the quiet room around them, to the paper and writing tool so eloquently placed on the bar counter and began running a mental checklist of what it is they would need.  Clothes, for one thing, he isn’t really suited to those colder waters - his father hailed from Atlantis, and that lovely city, is in a much warmer climate.

Except, will he really need some for Sam?  The deeper you go into the Declared Waters, the more, well, civilized the mer become.  Out here, in this town, you were the more odd mer out for wearing clothes, unless you were planning an expedition into the Open Waters.  That being the main why as to Dean leaving all his loving outfits tucked away in his older bag, which he promptly lost his first tip finning out into the more dangerous oceans.  Oh how he’ll miss all that gorgeous embroidery.  He shook his head, off subject, off subject.  Back to Sam; the shark lived out in the colder regions so he figured Sam wouldn’t be needing any clothes for colder exploration, but, it will be good for his attempts to help blend the shark into the modern societies.

So, clothes is a go.  Warm ones for him, and something fancy, to highlight the not sharky bits of the predator and try to make him appear more - more _mer_.  Food, Sam won’t be _too_ hard to find for, seeing as they had a few fish vendors in town, and the imagery of the stoic - and still fuming silently perhaps, shark, trying an actual _meal_ for the first time made Dean snicker.  Perhaps that’ll wipe the odd blank look off the shark’s face.  Dean knows food always cheered him up anyways.  Maybe some writing sets of his own, for whenever the scenario called for it, and basic tools.  He would have considered putting down a small weapon for himself, but Dean - well, he isn’t the most, _skilled_ , per say, in that department.

His tongue peeks out one side of his mouth, and he sighs through his nose as he wrote a thick cross over small dagger.  Instead, he rips the sketch page out and begins writing a far more elegant list, humming a tune as he plots his points and easily flows the letters.  Basic exploring kit, really, is what he needed, but he also likes that more noble and - _cushy_ , flare, and made sure to add the finer tastes of life tossed in.  Veriport was far off from other towns but they have their fair share of comfortable living ‘essentials’, many of which Dean will very much enjoy having on the sure to be exasperating trip to Atlantis.

As Dean scrawls down the list promised to the Guard Captain, Sam himself was slowly coming back to the world.  He looks to his hands, noting that they were trembling.  That’s nice.  He scrapes one shaking hand through his hair, hissing as he rakes through tangles and finding small solace in the sharp pain.  His eyes felt like they were black, and he hadn’t a proper looking glass to really check and tell.  He passes a wary gaze around the room, and he found that he hadn’t actually _been_ in a room - ever.  There was always a first for everything, he assumes, and with a shuddering breath releasing the last of his anxiety - or more of blocking it out, really, and began to investigate the items in the room.

He keeps an eye about him, even though the room is, as promised, emptied.  There is only Dean in the corner, humming softly a tune that make Sam’s ears twitch because he’d rather the mer just shut up entirely considering Sam was thoroughly livid with him for the whole ordeal.  Everything is interestingly decorated, strange objects he assumes were chair and tables, and many more oddities on the tables holding several strange liquids and tiny rocks and he eyes them all curiously.  They make for a good distraction, from his thoughts on Dean.

The mer, despite Sam telling him quite _adamantly_ that taking him here was a bad idea, did so anyways.  Only to have Sam’s fervid point proven rather quickly and although Sam carries little guilt to _anything_ he does - most of which is by nature, he believes that gets him a pass -, the mother’s look bothered him.  To Sam, something was sacred about a parent and their child, and that is why he vehemently avoided them whenever he came across the occasional mer.  Maybe it’s because he hasn’t a memory of his own family, and he would rather _not_ ruin that for some random, unsuspecting child.  Back to his point - Sam is quickly realizing Dean is very, very, arrogant.  The little shit assumes his word absolute law, and it makes him grind his teeth in irritation.  He wants to teach Dean a lesson, wipe the grin off his face but any verbal debate Dean would win, mostly thanks to his higher skills in that of language.   

That annoys Sam, the knowledge he _lacks_ the knowledge to properly serve Dean his just reward.  All Sam knew how to do, really, is terrify others - on purpose or not, and though that usually got the message across that Sam isn’t to be messed with, he knows somehow that wouldn’t dent Dean’s confidence in how to maneuver Sam in the world of ‘ci-vi-li-za-tion’.  The word itself makes his upper lip curl, and he turns too roughly due to that momentary flush of anger, knocking over items of one table with his too-large tail and perforating the water with all sorts of colours.  

The loud sound attracts Dean’s attention, who has long since finished up his task and handed his list away to some fidgeting guard, and was now spending it writing nonsensical things.  He looks to Sam with a sigh.  Sam, of course, returns it with a very polite glare.  

“What?”  Dean asks, eyebrow quirking and Sam didn’t remotely believe Dean even deserves to speak with him currently, and so the shark just keeps up his glare, hoping the sullen stare will speak the odes of rage he is feeling.  The mer simply looks back at him, unimpressed, assuming the shark has already recovered from the social shock seeing as he’s back to being a dick.

Their little staring match was interrupted by a throat being cleared, Dean turning to look at the Guard Captain accompanied by two wary soldiers, both holding large bags packed with various goods.  Sam, for his part, keeps his glare steadfast at the side of Dean’s head, envisioning all the ways he could render it to a bloody pulp for what has transpired and Dean _felt_ the glare as he looks at the mers now in the middle of the room, but he is doing a damn good job of ignoring it.

“Ah, my dear Guard captain!”  Dean announces a little too loudly, and the Captain gives him a cold stare back, not unlike Sam’s or the two visibly shaken guards in the room currently.  Well, Dean is just oh so very _popular_ today, now wasn’t he?

“Everything you asked for,” she supplies, gesturing for the guards to set the bags on the table.  “This one,” she gestures to the smaller - but still formidably sized -, bag.  “Has all of the food your requested, the other has the travel supplies.”  

“And the requested clothes?”  Dean asks, nearing the bags to investigate and opening the one claimed to hold their food.  He grabs a small container of kelp bits and immediately rips into it, snacking open mouthed despite the company he’s currently sharing or the severity of all their apparent shameless distaste for his existence.  Who cares, he’s hungry.

She pauses at his tasteless manners, before signaling to the larger guard.  “For your clothes, I’de rather you _not_ go back into town and gathered you a decent selection to pick from.”  And then a rather large pile of clothes was set on a cleared table, Dean eyeing it curiously.

“You can choose whatever you’d like.  We’ll be back in an hour to escort you out of town.”  She finishes up with, wanting this nasty business to be done and over with already so she could say goodbye to the strangers and never deal with them again.  Except at her words Dean’s face pinched, and her stomach drops as she prepares her ears to listen to more of his whale shit.

“An hour?”  Dean says, forgetting about Sam’s glare or his food to put his full attention on the Guard Captain.  “Why, that’s simply not enough time.  I’m sure me and my guard will need a little more time than _that_ to rest up and prepare.”

“You said sundown-”  The Guard Captain tries for, but Dean wags a food speckled finger.

“Nuh-uh, _you_ said supplies _by_ sundown.  I’m thinking a night here seeing as it’s already _so_ late would do us some good.  Really rest us up for the trip.”

“And what of the patrons of this inn?  Are they to simply sleep outside?”  She asks, furious, and Dean shrugs.

“Some time outside will do them good, I’m sure.”  Call him heartless, but he himself has spent a week out in the Poseidon-forbidden waters, sleeping on beds of kelp and filthy sand - and you don’t hear him complaining.  Much, that is.  “Look at Sam here, he’s spent his life in the great outdoors of the Open Waters, and now he’s a Royal Guard!”  He passes an eye to the two guards still silently posted behind the Captain.  “I’d say that’s one hell of an upgrade.”

“You can’t just waltz into our town and expect us to - to _bow_ down to your every whim.”

“ _Not_ my every whim, I mean, if my every whim was being commanded, well, I _really_ wouldn’t be too liked.”  Dean trails off with a shrug, before returning more cemented eyes to the Captain’s.  “Look, I was just looking for an in n’ out sort of trip into your town, but the rather _bigoted_ parents and children here made that a tad harder to do.”  He says, a hint of almost anger there, but it’s gone in a flash and Sam almost shocks at hearing it - it is the first he’s seen any negativity come from the mer.

“The shark made to attack a child.”  To the Guard Captain, that is a pretty damn reasonable thing to be upset about.  She says just as much.

“Semantics.”  Dean deadpans, and the Captain feels sort of like making to attack Dean, just to see if he’d call semantics on that.  “One night of us here won’t kill you,” pausing to think, he threw her a life line, “We’ll stay in an upper room, where as long as no one is _actively_ seeking us out, we won’t bother - or maim, or upset, any of the lovely little merfolk of your town.”  Dean figures he is being extremely giving here, going by the circumstances.  All things considering, if the town simply _ignored_ their presence, Sam wouldn’t have done anything but silently plot his demise, they would gathered everything they needed, and left.  Though that _would_ have left Dean nearly coinless, it would have been quick and easy.

Needless to say?  Dean blames the merfolk of Veriport for this one.

The Guard Captain seems to think over his words, and though she heavily disagreed with his view, it seemed the better option to leaving all the merfolk who practically lived here out on the streets for their time being here.  “Just one night?”  She asks, wearily, and Dean grins obnoxiously with a nod.

“Just - one - night.”  Dean sing songs, the tune scratching at her ears the wrong way and she turned back to her men, nodding to them and they share a glance before heading outside.

“At sunrise tomorrow you’re gone, and if I ever see you again remotely _near_ my town, know this,” she says, eyes dead serious as she moves closer to the green mer, “Atlantis’ wrath will not stop me from teaching you _my_ semantics.”  And that, she means, teeth bared as she towers over the just-now-discovering-he’s-much-smaller-than-her Dean.  Atlantis could send a squadron of heavily trained soldiers after her, and she would give two whale shits as long as she is able to teach this brat a lesson.

Dean visibly swallows, struggling the urge to avert his eyes from the hellfire in hers, and notes the rather vicious snarl on her face.  “ _Points_ , taken.”  He says, dialing down the cheekiness he would’ve liked to inflect there, and grabs one of the bags off the table.  “Just give us a few moments to get everything upstairs, and, ah, it’ll be like we were never here.”  That said, the Guard Captain graciously gifts him one last deathly glare before leaving.

-

“You know, you could’ve helped me move this stuff upstairs.”  Dean quips a few hours after he had long since dropped the last of the clothes on the floor of the room they now occupied to themselves for the time being.  It’s decent enough, not at all up to Dean’s rather expensive tastes, but it’s a sight for sore eyes for someone very much not used to sleeping outside.  He likes soft beds thank you very much.  “Still, I _single handedly_ managed to get everything up here, so I think I’m gonna give myself a pat on the back.”

Sam didn’t reply.  Sam in fact, didn’t say anything _at all_ since they’ve been up here.

Dean turns to him with curious eyes, holding up a large shirt and guessing it _should_ fit Sam.  Now, he would go over to see if it _did_ fit the shark, but said shark was currently drilling a hole through his head, had been the entire time Dean was sorting through their newfound goods and well - Dean is really starting to get sick of everyone glaring at him.

“What?”  Dean snaps, annoyed.  Sam only sees the comfortable room they were in, sees how easy it was for Dean to demand such things from the townsfolk, sees how easy a life Dean must have led.

“You are a spoiled brat.”  Sam bites out, finally.

Dean just rolls his eyes.  Like he hasn’t heard that one before.  “Yeah?  You got me.”  He feigns hurt, holding the shirt close.  “But - you’re an antisocial dick who can’t handle a little time in the real world.”

That stung, almost.  “Why couldn’t I stay back?”  Sam asks, voice rough.

Dean seems to think on the question, fingers fluttering over the cloth of the shirt and he shrugs his shoulders.  “Well, if I’m being perfectly honest, I wanted to see how you’d fare.”  His tone is casual - light, despite the tense waters, and Sam clenches his fist.  “But if I’m being perfectly _perfectly_ honest, I - uh, actually don’t have much coin left.”  He admits, and Sam doesn’t know what he means by that.

“What?”  Sam questions, teeth bared with a furrowed brow and Dean finally looks into his eyes with a sheepish grin.

“So I _may_ or _may not_ have been hoping a little scene would have happened, that way I can just get everything we need for free.  And really, it all worked out-” Dean is ever so rudely cut off by Sam lunging forward, because fuck no, Dean did _not_ just admit to vaguely planning those events.  Or at least _hoping_ they’d happen.  He makes a grab for the sneaky fuck of a mer, Dean knowing to duck out of the way and Sam crashes into the room’s table, cracking the thin stone and sending items of all kinds flying.

“Sam!”  Dean chides from his now corner vantage point, the chair from his previous spot held up in defense as the shark got up from the ruined table, turning vicious eyes the trickster mer’s way.  “Look, I’m _sorry_ , but this way we don’t have to scrape by as we get to Atlantis.”

“No,” Sam throws out, turning to face Dean and stalk closer, “This way _you_ don’t have to scrape by, _I am fine_ , with the basics.  You, on the other hand,” Sam’s face was turning red with anger, and he began to struggle for the proper words to express thoroughly how _brattish_ , and unbelievably _childish_ he found Dean, and alas, in his honestly short vocabulary, he found none.  He isn’t even sure _Dean’s_ likely extensive one, would have a good word for it.  

He flies forward again, teeth and claws bared and Dean almost yelps as he ditches the chair to fling himself to the bed.  Sam narrowly dodges the chair carelessly tossed his way, the thing thudding against the wall and he turns black eyes the mer’s way.  He edges closer, shoulders drawn back and tense and Dean swallows.

“We have a deal, Sam.”  Dean warns.

“You know what, Dean?”  Sam asks, tone suddenly light and the mer looks nervous at the change.  “Somehow, I don’t think our deal covers you - _forcing_ me, into positions you knew, _quite well_ , I’d break under.”  Sam says, hands flexing as he prepares himself to rip into Dean.  Oh, he isn’t often thrilled by the idea of having to fight, or maim anything too sentient, but Dean openly admitted to purposely putting Sam into that position all for the sake of saving coin - for some twisted sort of experiment, to add salt to injury.  He’s livid, he wants to hear Dean beg, and Sam’s tail flexes with energy, ready to spring him forward just when the world decided that - _no_ , Sam _doesn’t_ get to have his sweet revenge, as screams of panic and fear erupt _not_ from Dean, but below them.  In the main room of the inn.

Dean’s eyes widen, and his ears perk as he momentarily forgets Sam’s rather imposing presence to make a dive for the window that overlooked most of the town.  Through the muffled voices from downstairs he was absolutely sure he heard something that was - _not_ good, something very, terribly, _bad_ for him, and he peeks out the window cautiously.  

Poseidon curse his luck.  He mutters some few choice words under his breath, his eyes catching the very shiny, and very much deadly and authoritative douche baggy figures of the Royal Guard.  His - _favourite_ merfolk.  He gulps, teeth gritting because, why of course leading the charge, is his bestest buddy in the whole wide ocean.  Someone Dean could have gones eons without ever seeing again and stay quite pleased with life, and he yanks at his ears, flinging back from the window and pacing about the room.

“Okay, calm, stay calm.  This is - _fine_.  Just.  Just fine.”  Was some of the many things Dean was spewing, and though Sam was still very livid with him, the mer’s new fervent terror pulled too hard on his curiosity to stay that pissed.

The shark quirks his head, and wonders what was going on.  He knew very well something not good is happening, judging by the frightened noises coming from the-too-nearby down stairs.  And if he was to admit, he’s getting a little anxious over them - but Dean, from what he’s seen, turned out to be quite good at keeping a level head.  The mer’s panic only worsened after looking outside and he moved to check it out, curious as to what would send Dean in such a state when the mer flew at him, grabbing at his shoulders and Sam gave him a harsh glare.  He tries to shrug off Dean’s hands but the mer holds fast, leading Sam’s fingers to dig into the material of the windowsill, and only then does Dean cautiously peel his hands from the shark.

“ _Don’t_!  Don’t - don’t look out there.”  Dean sputters out, hands playing at eachother fast and nervous and Sam completely forgot about his anger at Dean in light of the situation.  The shark was now more curious than anything, and focusing on that let him not focus too much on wanting to panic with every unknowing patron of the inn down below.  

“What’s outside?”  Sam asks, one hand resting on the curtains and ready to draw them open at any given moment.  Dean’s eyes flutter here and flutter there, from the window, to Sam’s hands, then to the shark’s eyes and back again.  It made Sam dizzy to follow.

“Some one who.  Well.   _Doesn’t_ like me very much.”  It was the painful truth, the armoured mer outside leading the troops would absolutely _love_ to see Dean strung up by his entrails.  You know, the organs Dean prefers keep their long term residency status on the up and up.  He didn’t think that was too much an outlandishly crazy thing to want.  Or prefer at all costs.

“Some merfolk disliking you?  Shocker.”  Was all Sam can reply to that and Dean puffs his cheeks, hands clenching together so tight his knuckles turn white before he turns to grab at one of the bags.  He has neither the time nor the care to deal with the shark’s sourpuss attitude and begins shoving as many clothes as he can into the more roomy food bag.  

“Look, this guy doesn’t just hate me.  He’s got one  _helluva_ personal vendetta against me, my family, and just about everything to do with my personal beliefs.”  He rambles as he closes the clasps on the sufficiently stuffed to the brim bag.  “He’s like, number one fan of the fuck-Dean’s-life-up club,” and then, after a pause, “You two would get along great, if not for his _funny_ little habit of hating anything shark related.”  Dean gives another pause as he picks up the significantly heavier tools bag, tossing it at Sam who lets it thunk to the floor aside him.  Dean stares at it with slight defeat as he finishes his thought.  “Looking back, might be the reason why we didn’t along all that great.”

“He hates sharks?”  Sam asks, watching Dean give a slight growl of annoyance and pick up the tools bag again to shove it straight into Sam’s chest, with the shark looking at him all shocked like, with his too-black and too-offended eyes.  “Excuse you?”  He lashes out and Dean didn’t seem the slightest bit affected by it, when mere moments ago he was terrified of Sam - then again, Sam imagines he looked somewhat more terrifying then.

“Look, _yes,_ he hates sharks, sort of a dolphinfolk side effect, and _will you please_ carry the damn bag so we can abscond the fuck outta here before douchey Mcdoucherson the First finds us here and puts a delicate, fine tuned, _bloody_ end to our little adventure before it even starts?”  Dean seeths out, looking odd to Sam with such a serious tone and the shark holds the bag with numb fingers, never having held anything like it before and Dean rather rudely shows him the best way to carry it before daring another look out the window.  “ _Thank you_ ,”  Dean says as he slings it.

“Oh, I only did it because you asked me so nicely.”  Sam says, laced with sarcasm.

“No, you’re only going to be following my every word until we’re clear of this mess is because if you _don’t,_ ” Dean says, gesturing all the guards now seemingly entering their inn, “Mister Angry With Life _can_ and _will_ end your life very miserably until all you will ever be remembered as is that one rabid shark that stumbled into Veriport, with that dead mer that stupidly brought him there thinking it was a grand idea, here’s their _tails_ nailed to my wall.”  Dean says spitfire fast, and makes Sam a little more conscious to what Dean just said.

“Oh.”  Was the excellent and eloquent reply Sam gave.

“Yes, ‘oh’ is right, now break open this window so we can get the fuck out of here already.”  Dean says, pointing to the window opposite the one facing the guards, and Sam follows it without question.  Elbowing the glass, it easily shatters under the shark’s force.  Dean shoves by to cover the remaining shards stubbornly clinging to the windowsill with the curtain before darting through, motioning for Sam to follow him and the shark hesitates only a few precious seconds before pushing through.  HIs larger body gets caught on some shards and he hisses lowly when his skin and tail nick themselves on the unforgiving pieces, but coming out not too scathed next to the frazzled Dean.

“Just my stupid fucking luck that this Poseidon-damned inn is in the smack-fucking-middle of town with Hates Everyone And Dean The Most running around.”  It seems the green mer likes employing colourful language when stressed, but the idea of leaving town and going back out into the open waters already has Sam feeling far better, and strangely lucky.  

The stress of being in town dispensing at the sense memory of open waters, the elation dampens _somewhat_ by the idea of some psychotic Royal Army or whatever this guy was possibly hunting them down, but most of Sam’s life was spent running from mers with the same idea in mind.  He’s almost positive he can handle whatever the soldier has to bring - _if_ he was in familiar territory.  That being the Open Waters.  Where Sam was sort of forced to handle whatever the world had to bring for the longest time.  Or maybe Sam is being over confident, because judging by the loud sounds around them, there seemed to be a _lot_ of Royal Guards.  All after Dean, apparently, and that rubs the shark the wrong way.  What has this mer done?

“Alright, we hafta’ sneak, I don’t know if you can be sneaky, but we have to be pretty fucking sneaky.”

“I hunt for a living.”  Sam says.

“Shut up and follow me.”

With wide eyes at the mer’s uncharacteristic outburst, Sam follows.

-

“Why oh why do you have to be so fucking _big_?”  Dean whispers harshly, both him and Sam squashed against a wall while the mer peeks out from the shadowed alley they were currently hiding it.  The streets were crawling with the Royal Army, all far more diligent than Veriport’s guards and Dean sort of feels like beating his head in right now.  He’s stranded in the middle of a town, with a too hard to conceal _shark_ , and said town is full of heathen soldiers who are _hellbent_ on getting their hands on Dean - and Dean, is very much, so very much, over it.

“I don’t know, let’s ask my _shark parents_ , why their _shark son_ , is so big - I’m sure the answer will solve this mystery.”  Sam retorts to Dean’s statement, not really at his happiest right now as he struggles to keep his body cramped in the tight space.

Dean shoots a wrathful look his way, “Fuck you.”  

“No thanks.”  Sam replies, almost autopilot as the mer chose to ignore the bait to inch out, signalling to Sam the way is clear before shooting to the next most likely cramped and dark alleyway.  Sam follows, eyes warily scanning his surroundings as he enters the tight space.  Squishing by Dean the shark settles near the front.

“Look, Mister Grade A Asshole, this guy ain’t fucking around, and _I_ , am _not_ , fucking around.”  The mer sounds quite serious, and Sam rolls his eyes minutely before shuffling aside for Dean to lead them closer out of town.  Dean seems grateful for only a second, eyes hardening again and Sam can see the dark thoughts torturing the mer.  He just doesn’t care much to soothe it, waiting for Dean to get over the newfound stagefright and move on with the improvised plan.  “Alright - so, the town isn’t _that_ big, thank Poseidon, but it’s still going to be a bitch with all the Imperialistic Douchebags running around.”

“You’ve made that point very clear.”  Dean has, really, and Sam will like it very much if the mer finally just states if he has a plan or not.

Dean makes a strange growly sound in reply to Sam, fingers pulling at each other nervously as his mind runs a mile a minute.  As long as they keep to the shadows, they’ll be fine.  They’ll get out of town and Dean-Enemy-Number-One will have never known they were _actually_ here, and whoever ratted them out will get one hellish punishment and Dean will swim happily elsewhere - albeit trailed by a cranky shark, it will be _alive_ happy swimming.  Which, _such_ a preferred outcome.  “So, we just - have to make sure _no one_ sees us.”

“You like repeating that.”  Sam says, trying to shoulder by Dean to take front and the mer held fast, his mouth pursing and Sam blinks down at him.  “You obviously don’t have a plan.”

“Well who says I’m not _thinking_ of a plan, _right now_?”  Dean hisses up at him in turn, and Sam finds that hard to believe.

“Are you?”  Sam shoots back, and Dean pauses, a nervous glint in his eyes.

“Uhm.”  The mer breathes, pulling at his fingers and shooting wary looks around them.  “Not - not currently.  No.”  He admits, shamefully.  He’s just a _little_ preoccupied with the unmitigated terror of having the Royal Army so close to his current location, - _not_ - _fun._

“Then move over.”  Sam says, quite simply.  Though he isn’t sure where they are in town, he does have a generally decent quality sense of direction.  Besides, there is nothing he’d like more than to be _out_ of this Poseidon-for-saken town and thus figures he can easily lead them out.  With this in mind Sam moves to swim out of the shadowed alley way, and Dean apparently has a lot to say against it.  Mostly because his very sensitive to the situation ears picked up approaching soldiers who more resemble a sparkling royal _death_ than the nice depictions they like to en masse print and post all over the Declared Waters.

“Wait wait wait!  Sam, do _not_ \- I repeat _do not_ go out there!”  Dean sputters, rapid fire and clinging to Sam’s arm in an useless attempt at holding the much stronger shark back.

“And why should I listen to you if it was _your_ mistake which landed us here?”  Sam throws back.

“Because this time I am not wrong, you blighted befuddled fucking shark, just _listen to me_.”  Dean spits out, and Sam just stares at him, unimpressed at Dean’s attempts and choiceful words and swims out anyways.  The mer is glued to Sam’s side as the shark leaves the safety of the shadows, the departure beautifully timed to coincide with two Royal Guards ordered to scan the streets, who just _happened_ to hear strange noises, and just so _happened_ to decide it isn’t a dogfish - and will you look at that, they found their targets.

“Well, would ya’ look that, _I was right._ ”  Dean mutters quickly, staring at the wide eyes of the two Guards.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me you heard somemer?”  Sam says back, just as fast and Dean pauses.

“I got lost in the moment?”  He replies, before clinging to Sam with a whole new purpose, hiding behind the thankfully larger shark.

The Guards, watching this debacle, form almost pleased smiles.  They were under the strict orders to find the two suspicious fishfolk reported here in the village.  Well, actually, they were only really called to find _one_.  The shark was unimportant - to be killed on the spot, actually.  But the _mer_ , is what their General is after.  Hefty price on that one’s head.  Which means, if they are the lucky ones to bring it in - and the _tail_ of the shark, well, they were looking at one nice promotion.

The Heftier Guard elbows the Slighter one, gesturing their prizes and the Slighter one grins brightly, nodding before announcing themselves, and you know, their all powerful leader.

“Well well well, looks like we’re getting promotions.”  The Slighter says ever so jovially, “As I’m _sure_ the mer behind you knows of, Shark, we are on strict orders under _the_ General of Atlantis’ Royal Army, to bring him in.  You, on the other, well,” at this the Slighter shakes his head in mock shame.  “You’re just so unimportant and well, _monstrous_ , we’re to kill you right now.”  The Guards then raise their very much so lethal weapons, an intricate blend of metal and coral to create something both elegant - which, going by the shininess of their armours, seemed to be the Royal’s style -, and deadly.  

“Shouldn’t we call for backup?  The Shark _is_ a great white.”  The Heftier says, thought by the tone it appeared he wasn’t actually suggesting they did so.

“And share this glory?”  The Slighter replies.  The other Guard didn’t even bother replying, just chuckling to the Slighter’s question.

Dean, for his part, barely manages to hold in his cowardly whimper begging to be let out.  Curse his lack of combat skills - he sort of feels like going back in time to yell at his younger self for never putting more focus in how to use a damned _dagger_ at least.  He was a talker, not a fighter, and that is the exact reason why he was currently hiding behind Sam, peeking over the shoulder and grinding his teeth as the two Guards prep their fighting stances.  “Sam, Sam, you’re a shark, right?”  He hisses out, clawing into the meat of Sam’s shoulder and the shark, from whatever land his brain was currently vacationing in away from the situation, came online.

“Yes?”  Sam replies, jerking at the mer’s dull nails scratching his skin and he smacks the hand away.  He isn’t enjoying the situation more than Dean, and he doesn’t approve of the mer’s almost rhetorical questions.  Right now, he’s busy panicking in his own special way.  Sure, he’s fought mers before, killed a few, in the past - but these guys?  They’re trained, and from how casually they stalk towards them, they’re either skilled enough to take Sam down easy, or they’re too confident of their skills.  Sam is really, really hoping for the latter.

“So you can fight.”  Dean says, because Dean’s right.  He has to be.  Sam’s a bloody shark!  Killing, maiming, fighting, etc; that’s just all the glory bits of being a shark or something.  Dean might be horribly wrong, and Sam can actually be a _terrible_ fighter, but right now, he can only give two whale shits.  At best, Sam will win, they can hijack some items off their dead, maimed Royal bodies, and tail out of this town.  At worst, Sam becomes the single most accomplished meat shield while Dean gets the fuck out.  Both work for Dean, but honestly, he will hate having to find another shark to work for him if Sam fails this.

“You want me to fight two heavily _armed_ , _armoured_ , and _trained_ guards, _for your ass_?”  Sam spits out, and the Guards currently advancing on them even pause to laugh.

“Not a fan of the mer, are you Shark?”  The Slighter asks, and Sam turns to them with angry eyes.  He doesn’t really appreciate being referred to as just ‘Shark’.  He has a name.

“My name’s _Sam_.”  Sam says, anger red hot in his tone.

“Right.”  The Slighter says, then, completely trampling that, continues, “Listen, Shark, we’ll cut you a deal.  It’ll be a _bitch_ to kill you, I’m gonna be honest, so we offer you this.  Hand the mer over, and, we’ll let you free to eat our women and children, however it is you spend your sharky days.  Hell, maiming travelers, I don’t know.”

Now Sam _would_ have at least took the deal into consideration, get rid of Dean, go free, except - the fucker ignored his name _and_ suggested Sam likes spending his time eating mothers and kids, in the same sentence, no less.  Just something about that whole thing really rubs Sam the wrong way.  So the shark passes his periphery over Dean, who is now looking up at him with _very_ frightened eyes, and he debates for a second.  Dean pissed him off royally today, more so than Sam’s been in a long time, and he would absolutely _love_ for Dean to get his comeuppance.  However, he’s more partial for that to be done by his own hands.  “If I don’t make it out of this fight, I’m going to eat you.”

Dean looks painfully relieved at the words, and the mer chuckles nervously at the threat.  He was so sure Sam was going to give him up.  “But, uh, you’ll be dead.  Can’t quite eat me then.”

“I - will - eat - you.”  Sam reiterates, quietly and with the sharp bladed edge of a threat, then turns his attention back to the Guards waiting for his answer.

“So what’ll it be, Shark?”  The Slighter asks, and Sam cracks his neck, let’s his mind go blissfully dark, breathing in the panicked scent from Dean.  

“You might want to get behind something, Dean.”  Sam tells him, and the Guards look confused, focusing on Sam and not taking notice of Dean shooting behind a rather conveniently placed rock splattered with coralite.

“Can you say that a little louder?”  The Heftier asks.

“Oh, I was just telling Dean to get back.”  Sam says, casually, and when he blinks his eyes open they’re a solid black, and the Guards - aren’t too sure of their livelihood.  “And if I was you, I’d also get back.  Unless you’re positive you can take down the big, bad, _shark_.”  The last word he says with scorn, tone becoming guttural as the hunt flutters his senses.  The two Royal Guard’s _reek_ of fear and stress at his words, so acrid he could taste it  - and then, before the Guards have time to even debate, Sam lunges at them with the speed and accuracy of a true blooded killer, fueled by the belittlement from the two shocked Guards and panging reminder that - yes, he’s hungry.  Hunger always is a predominant feeling when he’s in this mode.

“Oh fucking shit.”  The Slighter mutters, and then shamelessly dodges over, thus directing Sam’s snapping jaws the Heftier’s way.  The shark crashed teeth first into the plated armour of the Heftier’s gut, and though the teeth only scratched the surface of the armour, the force of the hit sends the Guard flying back into the wall and smashing their head against the cobbled stone.  With a groan of pain they promptly pass out.  Sam, on his end, didn’t feel any of the pain from the crash, turning to place laser focus on the Slighter and growling, teeth bared and bleeding from a few teeth that cracked from the headbutt.  The sight made the Slighter pause, a nervous gulp before they tried to focus their fear into a more useful tool.  Their friend was uselessly crumpled over by the wall, and the shark was fidgeting, eyes coal black and the whole bloody mouth thing made it hard to focus.  But they were a trained Royal Guard, they’ve fought worse - ish.

The Slighter Guard flew forward, curved sword cutting through the water and Sam narrowly dodged, part of his arm slicing open under the sharp edge and the Guard grinned at the successful hit.  That oughta slow the shark down.  Except - the shark showed no signs he felt the pain, only growing more frenzied at the sight - smell - _whatever_ , and began to lunge at the Guard with more ferocity than before.  The Slighter had almost zero time to dodge, each duck and swipe out of the way draining their stamina and that meant each duck and swipe led them closer and closer to a very brutal, bloody end.  Which, no thank you.  They were putting so much focus into getting the fuck out of the way they forgot entirely to try and swing the sword as they did so.  Apparently trying to survive really overlapped that one reflex, and maybe this was why they always needed a team of at least five soldiers to take down a frenzying shark.

Their luck ran out and Sam clamped his jaws down on the exposed flesh of the guard’s arm, and the Slighter let out a pained yelp, rows of sharp teeth ripping through the delicate layers of their flesh and digging right down to the bone.  It was agonizing, and their free hand clamped over their mouth to try and conceal the food that quickly kicked its way up and out of their stomach when the sickening crunch of their own _bones_ reverberated through the water.  They then swallowed whatever they could, hyperventilating as the shark tore deeper and deeper and seems to be on the verge of successfully _ripping part of their arm off_ to grip their sword with a shaking hand and slash down at the beast.  The shark catches on somehow and jerks back, just in time for the sword’s tip to rip down it’s front - cutting the satchel’s strap Sam’s wearing - and what was in the shark’s mouth made the Slighter Guard scream.  There, hanging limp, was their left hand, blood oozing into the water and the shark quickly devoured the meat around the bones, the sounds sickening and the Guard _couldn’t_ quite hold down their meal.

They violently retched, their fatal flaw in letting their guard drop but their hand was _gone_ and being _eaten in front of them_.  The Guard coughed out chunks of their breakfast, shaking and sputtering as their last thought flittered through their mind - Well fuck.  Nothing elegant while the shark flies forward one last time to sink his teeth right into the Slighter’s neck, delighting in the warm flush of blood and ripping in, biting larger and larger chunks until the neck barely clung on and the body had long since become limp.

Sam rips off the body, swallowing the meat greedily and turns to the passed out Guard next.  He’s hungry, so hungry, and - it’s addictive, the flavour, despite the rancid aftertaste of merflesh, and so wastes no time in lunging towards the unsuspecting prey.  He bounces off the metal of the armour, hands clawing at clasps and trying to rip the protective gear off when the mer’s blue eyes startle open.  A scream of terror ripped from the Guard’s throat, waking up to the sight of a bloody mouthed, frenzied shark, currently trying to rip their armour off, well, if that isn’t nightmare fuel then the Guard isn’t sure what _is._

The Guard’s hands desperately push at the shark’s snapping jaws, realizing with a panging echo of _fuck_ his sword was left on the ground, too far for him to reach and yelps out in horrible pain when the shark bites down at his fingers, three caught up in the rows of razors whites and watches in horror as they’re ripped from his hand and swallowed, gloves and all.  His stomach suddenly decides it’s a jolly good idea to exit the body pronto, and he beats at the shark’s face desperately.  His actions only prove to further annoy the shark, the beast turning it’s eyes up from the bloodied hand and springing forward to clamp teeth down on one of the Guard’s cheeks.    _Fuck_ , that fucking hurts, and he screams out again, pleading and yanking at the hair of the shark.  He‘s going to die, and he blames the beheaded dead fuck of a Guard on the floor some feet from him for his tragic, brutal death that - doesn’t happen.

Dean’s watched this long enough, and despite the disgusting mess of a blood bath and the incorrigible terror he’s feeling currently, the squealing and screaming thing?  That’s going to attract a whole lot more than two cocky guards.  He shouts Sam’s name, maybe a little risky move there because the shark turns coal eyes to his location, nostrils scenting the air and probably smelling his fear or whatever the fuck shark’s smell - Dean doesn’t care, not right now, most especially, because Sam is _nearing_ him.  Bleeding and covered in _other’s_ blood and Dean can attest to the fact he just might’ve shit himself.  “Sam, Sam, remember our deal?”  Dean stutters out, tense and backing himself into a wall and the Guard that was bleeding out in the corner takes the chance to make a run for it, Sam too preoccupied with Dean to take notice and the Guard thanks Poseidon as he calls out for help.

“ _Sam_ , for the love of fucking shit will you snap out of it?”  Dean yells, realizing they have now zero time for this and the shark is now only a few feet shy of the mer, and Dean’s debating which hand he needs less, because that will be the one he uses to block Sam’s attack.  He’s breathing heavy, heart going crazy and he clenches his eyes shut, tries to calm his heart, thinking that should help him _not_ bleed to death quickly - or something.  He isn’t sure, not when there’s death looming over him, but he figures, if he _is_ going to die, he wants it with some semblance of courage.  So Dean opens his eyes, body trembling and faces Sam’s bloody appearance and holds himself as still as he can, biting his lower lip and guessing this is really it.  Goodbye sweet, cruel world, fuck him in particular for trying to use a shark for the greater good.  But then, right when Sam is inches from his face, mouth hanging open and scenting the air or some other shark shit, Sam’s eyes suddenly blink with a newfound consciousness.  “Sam?”  He tries, all the world’s weight held in that teeny question.

“Dean?”  Sam replies, sounding just as confused as the mer and he really is.  Last he recalls he was gearing up to fight the two annoying guards and then - blammo, darkness.

“Oh, thank fucking everything.”  Dean breathes out, “Sam, that was - fucking _gross_ as _shit_ but we gotta go.”  The mer’s voice is oddly pitched, wavering and Sam can see that Dean’s face is tinged green.  Dean spends only a second longer eyeing him with a strange, far off terror before throwing caution to the water and grabbing onto one of Sam’s bloody hands with pursed lips and tugging him in the direction Sam could only guess meant not here.  “And you’re bleeding, that’s double gross, oh fucking fuckity fuck, this is disgusting, but ain’t no way in hell that guy _yelling for help_ isn’t getting heard by those other fucks and you’re fucking terrifying and _bleeding_ everywhere.”  Dean mutters rapid pace, shaking from where he held onto Sam and the shark let the mer pull him, brain still coming back from the dark space it let itself sit in whenever he frenzied.

“Hault!”  A chorus of voices shouts from behind them, and Sam turns his head curiously to eye the figures of more than fifteen Royal Guards, all varying degrees of deadly fish species, and the main guru - Sam’s guessing that by the _extra_ shiny armour, was a dolphinfolk.  Something about the face of the stern, elderly fishfolk made Sam’s head ping with a very distant thought.  It tugs at him, and Sam only spends one second longer before realizing that the pain he’s sort of not feeling all over was from squaring off with _one_ halfway competent soldier, well, he has a guppies chance in a frenzy to make it through what looks to be, far more trained enemies.  

“Fuck.”  Sam hears Dean mutter, and he guesses Dean would be in as much shit as him if they get caught.  With this cemented in his mind, he takes charge.  Not wanting to die just yet, he grabs onto Dean’s slim wrist, begins to swim as fast as his tail can propel him.

“W-wait!  Sam, the bag!  Your bag!”  Dean calls out uselessly, just now noticing their bag of tools lying on the ground, it’s once perfectly useful strap, cut into a perfectly useless _not_ -strap.

“No time.”  Sam comments, and from there, everything is a blur.  Sam focusing solely on getting out of this wretched town and into the freedom and relative safety of the Open Waters.  He’s ducking in and out of alley ways, dodging screaming citizens and this is - fun.  He’s cut and in pain, but it’s overridden by actual _joy_ of being in a chase, the thrill of a backwards hunt.  Like the games he used to play when he was younger, when everyone wanted him good and gone before he got too big and he laughs, vibrant and loud.  And - he knows Dean’s talking to him, can feel the slight vibrations in the water and can smell his stress, taste it almost, and wants to laugh at how he kind of _doesn’t_ care.  He simply wants out of town, and he’s sort of shocked at how fun it all is, so he’ll thank Dean later for not losing his shit at the sight of Sam frenzying.

For now, he’s going to enjoy this.


	4. tentacles are kinda creepy, you know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gOSH DARNIT my dad - who's helping me write this -, lovingly told me we both done fucked up in our stories - present tense is now apparently a thing of the past, its aLL ABOUT PAST TENSE NOW BABY so now im RE-EDITING all of my bloody pages to match past tense and actually, you know, rid of words and upgrade my writing bc its gotten better but still wHEN DOES THE EDITING HELL EEENND
> 
> anyways enjoy yeah
> 
> \-------

“Sam!  They’re gone!”  Dean yelped, barely able to focus thanks to how fast Sam moved them and Sam turned curious eyes his way, a strange gleeful grin on his face and Dean pursed his lips at the sight.  Kind of terrifying, that, what with Sam still bleeding all over the place and not to mention - Sam could _smile_ ?  Sam could _laugh_?

“We beat them?”  Sam asked, a breathless chuckle escaped him and they’ve finally stopped, Dean’s heart hurt from the exercise he never quite got around to doing.  The mer passed wild eyes all around them, and it looked like they stumbled right out of Veriport and into the Open Waters.  

Enchanted coral surrounded them, the stalks larger and far more sturdy than their usual counterparts.  All varying shades of sunset orange and reds, twisting and twining to create an atmospheric forest of sorts.  Dean would appreciate the beauty if not for the fact Sam had just _ate_ two guards in front of him and said _remaining_ squadron of royal guards just chased them out of town.  At least none let slip who he _was_ exactly.

“Yes.  I -”  Dean paused to look around them, the Royals _wouldn’t_ follow them out here, would they?  Dean liked to think he knew them pretty well, and well, Mister General wouldn’t touch the ‘filth’ of the Open Waters if his life depended on it.  “I - _think_ we beat them.”  He couldn’t be _too_ sure.

“That used to be my favourite game.”  Sam chuckled out, wiping at his bloodied mouth and found it even more entertaining when the mess of red worsened.  “Can’t beat me though, too fast.”  He almost laughed again, because it’d been awhile since he’s had to do the running, and it sort of felt thrilling to escape someone trying to kill you.  Or at least he thought so, maybe because it’s a reverse of his usual?  

Sam didn’t really care, but what he _did_ care about now, despite his happy good time feelings he rarely ever got to enjoy, would be the fact he could now feel the full brunt of the wounds on his chest and arm.  “Oh.”  He breathed, gingerly gliding over the one on his arm with his free hand.

“Shit, that’s - yeah, that’s gross.”  Dean muttered to himself, and pulled his hand from Sam’s now slack grip - and paused of course to grimace at the red handprint etched around his wrist -, to reach into his bag and pull out a large, unappealing shirt.  This one should do.  His interest peaked as to what this ‘game’ that Sam referred too, but right now, he felt it might be best to stop the blood that _still_ saw fit to gunk everywhere.

“Usually the bleeding slows by now, cuts aren’t that deep.”  Sam stated, and he watched as Dean struggled to tear a strip from the shirt and reached forward with a sigh to take it from Dean.  He easily cut it with his teeth, ripping it into strips and Dean stared at him with what Sam could surmise, his best rendition of his own sharky bitch face.  Dean did take the strips from him however, and fretfully dressed the wound on Sam’s arm.

“Of course it’s still bleeding, clean cuts always bleed out the longest.  That’s why it’s best to _bandage_ it.  Actually, best to bandage _all_ wounds, but you get the picture.”  Dean supplied, wishing he had the damned bag Sam so carelessly left behind, because it contained first aid supplies and healing salve but _no_ , they had no time.  His face soured at the thoughts.

“Not really, I’ve never actually had any wounds covered.”  Sam said, and he hadn’t.  Out in the Open Waters, supplies to do such needless things weren’t really too common - if you got cut, you got cut.  And besides, most fishfolk living out so far would rather kill you the second your backs turned, no - they prefered you _facing_ them when they killed you.  

The point remained, however, out here, it’s a survival of the fittest sort of deal.  And usually, not everymer out here in the Open Waters were so - _well equipped_.  Sam won most his fights without getting even a nick.  Intimidation played a rather large part in that.

“You’ve never bandaged - _any_ of your cuts?”  Dean said, face squicked, and he found the shark’s words hard to believe.

“I’ve lived in the Open Waters.”  Sam said, because _there_ it goes, Dean’s privileged life rearing it’s ugly little head in comparison to Sam’s to be honest, kind of fucked up one.

“Oh, yes, well, uh.”  Dean stuttered out, feeling moderately embarrassed, and he looked at his hands while he finished the loose knot to keep the danged thing in place.  Shirts weren’t the best for these sort of things.  “Anyway, if you hadn’t left the bag, I would’ve had actual gauze to apply to these shits.”  He said, gesturing the wounds and Sam shrugged, arm feeling uncomfortable under the makeshift bandage.  

“Now stay still, the one on your chest is gonna be little bit tricky.”  Dean said, swimming over Sam and huffing out silent complaints as he barely managed to get the shirts strips over the broad stretch of Sam’s back and chest.

While he fought a fruitless battle, Dean spotted a strange quill on Sam’s right shoulder blade, about two inches in length and barely a centimeter in width.  He tilted his head, flicking the thing and he flinched back when Sam made a low hissing sound, glaring over his shoulder at Dean and the mer sheepishly shrugged his shoulders.  

“I think they shot at you with something, I’m not sure.”  Dean gingerly pinched the object between his thumb and forefinger, “Warning , might sting.”  He yanked it out, eyes widening at how deep the thing had embedded itself - about another inch _inside_ \- and flung himself away from the shark who made a strange snarling sound at the twinge of pain.

Holding up the orange-reddish quill Dean managed to chuckle.  Really, the item appeared more like one bitch of a splinter to something far more severe from what he could see, Sam didn’t even bleed a little.  “Oh, calm down you big guppy!  Was just a little splinter of sorts, see?”  He waved it where he knew Sam could see it, and paused his movements when Sam stalked forward, ripping the thorn-like item from Dean’s hand and snapping it in half.  “Overreacting much?”  Dean asked, staring at the snapped item as it floated with an almost sad water to the sand floor.

“Fucking hurt.”

“Noted.”  Dean paused, and continued with,  “Duly.  Now turn back around, gotta finish bandaging your chest.”  Sam did so silently, grumbling under his breath while Dean fixed the wrappings which went loose from when Sam fidgeted about.

“This feels weird.”  Sam complained when Dean managed to finish it up, shrugging his shoulders and disliking how the cloth slid with him.

“Yeah, well get used to it.”  Dean said.

“Fuck you.”  Sam said to him, anger evident in his tone as he tugged at the cloth, feeling constricted.

Dean, noticing, swatted his hands away and shot a cheeky grin up at Sam, and, quoting the shark from not too long ago, “No thank you.”  His voice all snark, and he pat an unconsidering hand on Sam’s chest.  The shark didn’t look too pleased at the little pit pat, but taking note on how Dean _didn’t_ outwardly panic all too much when Sam frenzied, he let it go - just this time though.  

“Anyway, Sam, unlike some fishfolk, I actually _like_ wearing clothes.  So pardon your shark ass, I’m going to find _something_ decent from what supplies we have left.”  Dean said.  Thankfully, the clothes were mingling with the food, so Dean figured not everything got fucked.  “However - we should find someplace more - I don’t know, safer, or whatever, to hide.  You're the shark who’s lived here all his life, so - I nominate you to lead us to a quaint little hiding spot.”

“You can literally only nominate me, jackass, I’m the only other fishfolk next to you.”  Sam retorted.

“Not true, I _can_ nominate myself.”  Dean said, stuffing the torn shirt into the bag and he swam up and around Sam with a shrug.  Sam watched him with annoyance before he huffed out a sigh and took point, eyeing the enchanted coral around them.

“That’d make you a dick.”  Sam replied to Dean’s words, and the mer made a thoughtful face.

“True.  I can agree with that.”  Dean said, and Sam pulled a face as he turned them into the thicker parts of the coral.

“Don’t agree with me, it’s fucking weird.”  Sam said, sticking his tongue out momentarily in distaste and Dean popped up in Sam’s face, again, with an even _cheekier_ grin.

“I can _also_ \- agree with that.”  Dean felt oddly giddy, unsure of _why_ , but he had snacks and clothes and maybe he’s lacking the _entire bag of tools_ he swindled, but they actually escaped the Royal Guards.  Those douchebags had been haunting him for the longest time.  And since that one, small, _insignificant time_ he went and well, _royally_ , pissed them off - they hadn’t been too kind in forgetting about it.  Then again - well.  

No, he didn’t have time to think of that.  He’s on a important mission - a goal.  Asides, he found it pretty fucking elating to have finally pulled a fast one on them, give them a taste of their own medicine, angry-eat-everything-shark style.

“Did you not see me _eat_ the last two fucks that annoyed me?”  Sam said, poison dripping from his tone and Dean tuned back into the world with a chuckle.

“Alright, alright - just feeling _pretty_ swell right now.  Aside from the missing tools bag, we’re alive.”  The mer said, shrugging, and he relented back from pissing the shark off more and Sam rolled his eyes.

The shark chose not to reply, focused on maneuvering them through the thick stalks of coral and other intricate rocks of the same nature.  Sam often avoided these places, mostly because he’s a fishfolk that’s larger than what most usually _perceived_ as large, and trying to chase prey that tended to be much faster than him through small corridors - well, the points across, he didn’t get to eat.  

Sam’s not sure what Dean’s looking for, and to why he found himself looking instead of just settling in the open area - though he loathe to admit it, Dean’s right on this one, it _would_ be safer to be in a more secluded location.  Adding on with the fact Sam’s still in pain - and quite exhausted, it wouldn’t be fun to go up against other creatures and fishfolk for some reason or the other were dicking about in these parts.  Which, were unfamiliar, but Sam figured he’s on a trail to a semi-decent hiding spot.  And if he’s to admit it, the scenery _was_ nice.

“Scenery’s nice.”  Dean commented, eyeing some of the glowing sea flowers helping light their steadily darkening area - not that Sam would have a hard time seeing -, and the mer’s tempted to pick one.  The shark narrowed his eyes in mild annoyance, tempted to disagree with Dean just for the sake of disagreeing but held his tongue, mostly because Dean didn’t know Sam’s thinking the same thing and he really didn’t feel like instigating more conversation.

Or maybe he didn’t agree because everything became fuzzy, and Dean’s annoyingly loud commentary started to sound distant, far off, and wow - he’s tired.  It _had_ been a good four days since he last slept, and all this commotion - all this _change_ , apparently, took a larger toll on his mind than he previously thought.  

And Sam, well, Sam’s always on guard, so he knew with a bone deep assurance even with how tired he felt - he still wouldn’t be so quick to pass out.  There’s something more, something which tugged at his eyelids and dragged him down, a strange burning shot from his shoulder and he couldn’t place himself in the know-how from when he slipped from being moderately not okay to goodbye world, I’m clocking out for the day.  

He figured it might’ve been around the time his face smushed against the uncomfortable craggy sand floor and Dean’s terrible lack of strength tried to pull him off said uncomfortable craggy sand floor.

-

Dean kind of thought they were having a moment, you know, close enough to a moment as they could have.  Silence that bordered _almost_ comfortable, gorgeous scenery, having just escaped near death and hoping Sam completely forgot why he currently had it out for Dean.  Hell - Dean even bandaged some of the shark’s wounds.  

If anything, the mer could only assume that maybe, just maybe, they were kind of bonding.  But the shark had to ever so rudely pass out like a dick and leave Dean all by his lonesome, surrounded by enchanted coral and forcing the mer to find them a secluded little area _himself_.  

“Fucking ass.”  Dean grumbled, huffing out in exertion while he attempted to drag the far-heavier-now-that-he’s-passed-out shark into what he’s assuming a safe spot.  The enchanted coral is more twisting here, twining into narrow corridors and in between it all Dean could spot a small cave opening, which looked like a good enough spot to go over what they were supposed to do now.  

He winced as he dragged the shark over the lower branches, snapping some and Sam let out a low groan of pain.  Served the shark right for letting himself pass out and leaving _Dean_ to defend them - after what just transpired, bad move, Sam - Dean thought as he lets out another huff of exertion, tempted to just leave Sam here.

But the shark _did_ just save him, and Dean does have _some_ semblance of a moral compass, one which didn’t allow Dean to ditch his sort-of-kind-of-hero-at-the-moment on the sand floor.  Except as he continued his fruitless task of moving Sam, the realization dawned on him that this whole ‘dragging face down’ thing can't really be referred to as working out for either of them.  He figured getting Sam on his back might be just a tad bit more helpful.  

He swam down to the shark’s level and pulled a face at the strange purplish colour to the shoulder where Sam got shot with the quill.  Well, going by Dean’s vastly inexperienced knowledge on wounds and infections, he can only really surmise, judging by the _wonderful_ discoloration of the skin, Sam’s not doing too good - or in better terms, he’s fucked.  He pressed soft fingers around the small hole, jumping back when the shark flinched and let out a strangled groan.   _Definitely_ fucked.

“Oh, okay, yeah, not good.”  He tilted his head and squicked his features, “Also kind of really gross.  Anyway, yeah, cave, let’s - go - there.”  He grit out between huffs, pulling at Sam’s arms and after what felt a good amount of _hours_ he managed to get to the entrance.  He looked down, noticing said entrance had just that slight bit of elevation into it and he glanced at Sam’s pained expression.  

“Yeah - sorry about this.”  None too gently, he yanked Sam’s head over the shy of a foot wall into the cave.  Taking no thought to the scenery, he gave one last tug and landed on the floor with a huff, the shark’s heavy body tumbling after him and he grunts when they collide.

He blinked once into the groaning, still fainted shark’s face, noticing huh - Sam’s not bad looking, actually had a rather pleasant face when it _wasn’t_ tarnished with a snarl or a bitch face.  

He took a second longer to appreciate this perchance once in a lifetime moment to examine Sam’s features before Dean shoved him off with an exclamation of disgust because _gross_ , Sam’s still kind of bleeding - and also running quite the temperature.  He swiped at the few blood droplets on his chest, thanking everything he had yet to get a shirt on because blood is a _bitch_ to get out - in fact, Dean’s pretty certain it’s impossible?  Anyway.  Back to the probably poisoned shark on the sand floor.

“Alright, so, funny thing, Sam - Sam.”  He repeated, a nervous chuckle bubbling from him because the feeling running rampant through his chest found its own special little name under - fucking worried.  Sam’s poisoned and Dean, well, “Funny thing, is, uh, I know _jack diddly squat_ about poison, and uhm, gonna take a quick little gander - you’re pretty fucking poisoned.”  Dean’s pretty damn sure he’s correct, judging by the sudden undue temperature of the shark’s forehead.  

The mer doesn’t know much about poison induced fevers, not to mention _poisons_.  He’s feeling pretty fucking useless right now until -

“Well, funny thing about poison is that _I_ know about it.”  Said a voice with a lyrical tilt, and Dean’s eyes shot wide open, quickly ducking behind the shark lying on the ground - who still had his face smushed against unforgiving sand, reminding Dean of the shark’s current condition, that being, passed out like an asshole .  Which - right right, Sam’s conked, guess it’s up to him to be the one in front right now, though he _could_ use him as meat shield.  He entertained the thought for a moment before the guilt of Sam’s ailment niggled the back of his mind and he rushed in front, hands held up as he crouched semi-defensively over the shark.  

The mer watched with minute horror as the owner of the voice flit about the darkest parts of the cave, and Dean cursed his lack of night vision as he struggled to keep watch on the stranger - and to hold his stance over Sam.

“And how is that a funny thing?”  Dean managed to stutter out.

“Things tend to be funny.”  The stranger supplied, and Dean grit his teeth.  

“Alright - what do you want?”  Dean snapped out when one creepy ass tendril from something popped out of the darkness and tapped his tail fin curiously.  He swat his tail at it with annoyance, inching increments away from Sam because - _ew_ , gross.

“Maybe for a poisoned, possibly dying shark, to _not_ be on my cavestep, but you know, funny things.”  It said again, humour tainting it and at the very least Dean can place the voice as a woman.  

“Well, do you want me to - move him?  Because getting him here _wasn’t_ an absolute bitch?”  Dean said, throwing his hands out at the darkness and completely forgetting any element of possible danger.  It’s not the easiest task to go hefting around a four hundred something pound shark, and when you’re Dean - who, well, hasn’t had to do much really in lieu of _exercise_ then it’s _double_ not easy.

“Can you?  From what I can see...”  The voice trailed off, and Dean jolted when he felt something both slimy and sticky allow itself the _grace_ to touch his arm.  Without thought he bounded away from Sam completely, scratching at his upper arm and wondering what in the seven swimming fucks just touched him.  “Those arms aren’t lifting anything.  And really, your loyalty is impressive.”  The voice deadpanned and Dean stopped slapping at his arm long enough to stare with incredulity at where he assumed the stranger.

“What?”  Dean said.

“See, for a moment, I thought you were going to be noble and hide your pretty much fucked friend from the big bad scary _whatever_ in the darkness, but you jump at the slightest touch.  Plus, that was only two of my arms.  How would you even hold to the other _six_ I have?”  She-he-whatever said, and Dean wondered briefly why she’s being such an ass to him until her words on the whole ‘arm’ thing register and Dean snapped his mouth shut in a fine fine line.

“You’re an _ocotpifolk_ ?”  Dean spit out, rubbing at his arm with a newfound shuddering terror, imaging the slimy tentacles that just touched him.   _Gross_.

“And you’re an ass who leaves his _poisoned, passed out_ friend _alone_ \- to defend himself against said octopifolk?”  With that said she’s out of the darkness - or rather, her body seemed to shudder with colour and Dean could actually _see_ her -, and there, floating over Sam, a red octupifolk.  Her arms were crossed and she had a lazy grin,  one which Dean could now sort of remotely see why others always had such a harsh reaction to his own snarky grin.  “Seriously, that’s a dick move right there.”

Dean didn’t have a good reply to that, and so grit his teeth with indignation.  So he ditched Sam without much thought - she’s a bloody _octopifolk_ and Dean’s chances against her were already zero - so yeah, trying to pointlessly defend a shark who’s already _dying_ would’ve just caused both their demises.  And though Sam would be a bitch to replace, Dean _was_ , on a very important mission.  And Dean?  He’s the VIP of said mission - thus, he cannot die.  

“Listen, lady, I’m on a sort of very important mission here, and I can’t go around risking my tailhind to save someone who’s probably already dying.”  Kind of shitty, that, because Sam began to teeter on almost enjoyable before he conked right out - sort of, but still not to the point he’d be willing to risk his _life_ for him.

“Then why’d you drag him to my cave?”  The octopus gave in rebuttal, and Dean crossed his arm with a shrug.

“I’m not without decency, if Sam _is_ dying, might as well be in some privacy - which _you_ are interrupting, so if anything, _that’s_ a dick move.”  Dean said, triumphant and he passed the octopus a jolly smile.  One which, said octopus, just tilted her head at and didn’t seem the slightest affected by.  This made Dean falter.

“Ah yes, I never knew common decency involved leaving dying shark’s on stranger’s floors.  Clearly, I have some things to learn from the likes of you.”  She said, in faux shame.

“I -”  Dean stopped, glaring up into her eyes and he balled his fists.  Snarky bitch.  “Look, Sam’s poisoned, and how the hell am I supposed to know an _octopifolk_ is living so close to a _village_?  You guys aren’t allowed anywhere near the Declared Waters!”  Dean tossed his arms in the water, annoyed to all hell because yeah - octopifolk, alongside sharkfolk, weren’t exactly welcomed anywhere near where the Royal Army could be even remotely found.  

This coral forest grew not too far from Veriport, so Dean hadn’t been expecting the first cave he spotted to have, what he recalled, an extremely rare species of fishfolk just - just _octopifolking_ about.

“Well as true as that may be - seeing as all you simple fishfolk are so _offended_ by my efficiency and all -, maybe I’m just enjoying the _thrill_ of living so close to the Declared Waters.”  She said, an odd grin on her face as she placed a hand on her chest, but all Dean could see were her creepy to all hell tentacles swishing about, above Sam’s drooling face, and Dean thought for a moment that he’s feeling the smallest twinge of guilt at letting Sam lay below - _that_.  

Not to say Dean’s all for the whole banishment of fishfolk species, he had to agree, octopifolk just carry a certain - water about them.  A creepy, highly uncomfortable water.

“Look, what do you want?”  Dean asked, wary and edging further away from the octopifolk.  She took notice, swimming from Sam to the entrance and easily blotted out any thoughts of running on Dean part.

“What do you want?”  She returned, and Dean _does not_ feel up to playing such word games right now.

“For Sam _not_ to be dying, for one, because he was my key component here - aside from me of course - and also for a freaky octopi lady to not be creeping me the fuck out right now.”  Dean said, though in general, no matter what she does, she’s still going to be regarded as ‘highly disconcerting, stay back’ in his mind.

“I’m not that creepy, you know.”  She said, arms crossed and she's just _staring_ at him, and Dean cleared his throat under the undivided attention.  He averted his gaze to Sam, who doesn’t look at all to be having a good time.  “Give or take three days.”  She said, sudden, and Dean looked to her with an arched brow.

“What?”  He asked.

“Give or take three days and the shark - or Sam, his name, I’m assuming, will be dead.  Fast, but not too fast, acting poison, looks like.  Simple type, but seems someone put some elegance into it.  I know a few things that could probably ease him.”  The octopifolk said, and Dean grimaced.  

Octopi had a special way with poisons, one of the reasons they weren’t well liked before being banished, and Dean didn’t enjoy the idea of somemer not only creating deadly concoctions - but _enjoying_ making deadly concoctions.  And the octopus seemed to be enjoying decoding the affliction on Sam, as she turned her back to the green mer and begag poking his wound, making small affirming noises and Dean huffed out an annoyed breath.

“And you’re telling me this why?”  Dean asked, unsettled and wondering why the octopifolk’s even bothering to poke around at Sam.  

“Well, look at this guy - poor shark’s burning up already.  Almost pity him.  I know just the algae to queue that down.”  She replied, touching the back of her hand to his forehead and frowning slightly.  

She reached over with one of her long tentacles, to something behind Dean, and the mer flinched when it yanked down a dark cloth concealing several glowing flowers.  The room comes to light, several old shelves holding an assortment of jars becoming visible to Dean - all filled with varying flora and algaes.  Without even looking she picked the one to the farthest right, unscrewing the cap with another limb and Dean _almost_ felt jealous at how much she could to do in one go, her other limbs picking up Sam without much struggle and they laid the shark down on a makeshift bed.

Dean watched with little interest while she delicately grabbed some of the green smush of plant, she ground it into an even grosser looking smush and forced it into Sam’s mouth.  It didn’t look like it tasted pleasant, the shark’s features screwing before the octopus forced the rest down, her face passive.  Instead, while she did whatever the fuck she did with dying strangers, he eyed up the now lit room.  

It’s all very - rushed, it seems.  Nothing really set, and most of the furniture appeared mismatching or entirely handmade by somemer who obviously didn’t know what they were doing.  He tuned back in when Sam coughed, body jerking with each violent retch before falling limp and Dean jumped at the blood that hacked out with each harsh breath.

“Oh Poseidon is he dead?  Did he just die?”  Dean sputtered out, holding his stomach and he felt painfully queasy at the limp expression on Sam’s face.  The octopus didn’t reply for a moment, pulling out a rag and wiping at the shark’s face to clear the blood that stayed there from both earlier’s snack and just now’s lovely display of poison induced dying.  Dean found momentary humour in how the sight of two Royal Guards being eaten in front of him bothered him little to none aside from the obvious gross factor, but Sam dying - or whatever he just did, made him uneasy.  He figured it’s guilt doing that.

“He’s fine - or well, for _now_ , that is.  The poor fuck’s still going to die in a few days, but what I just gave him will make it less agonizing.”  She said, forcing Sam onto his side so his back faced them, and from there she gave a careful speculation to the now swollen wound on the shark’s back.  “You still have the dart that did this?  Preferably intact?”  

“He,” Dean replied, “snapped it in half.”

“Figures.  That would have been helpful.”  She said with a sigh, and Dean stared at her for a moment, wondering why she asked about it and why it even mattered before he recalled how octopi tend to be specialists in poison - masters of it, to be more precise.  

“You can cure Sam.”  Dean said, and though it’s true, he didn’t think she’d be all for helping them, despite how she seemed to be fawning over Sam’s wound.

“Yep.”  She answered from over the shark.

“But you’re not going to, are you?”  Dean said.

“Not really.”

“Then why the fucking fuck are you messing with him?”  Dean snapped out, rubbing at his head because he felt the oncoming pangs of a vicious headache.

“Because maybe I can be _persuaded_ to help.”  She said, and there's a hint of hidden something in her tone that had Dean’s interest piqued.  The octopus had a few certain things she needs, well, done.  Involving very personal matters but to get to _those_ she needs to get the shark healed and this idiot of a mer collecting some vital components.  And not to mention, if she’s correct on what type of poison is afflicting Sam, well, she’s in luck.  

Bonus feature to it all, the mer didn’t seem too hard to manipulate though, very prideful - which, useful for her, most prideful creatures are _very_ keen on staying on that self imposed high seahorse of theirs, even though she didn’t know where such a quip came from.  Who ever saw a seahorse big enough to carry the likes of their egos, anyway.

“I’m listening.”  Dean said, squinting his eyes at her back and crossing his arms.  Not that he’ll do whatever she asked if it’s too out of the way, but on the off chance it’s simple - he guessed he’d sacrifice the time to get it done, Sam deserved as much from him.

“It’ll take a day or so to collect what I need to make a good antidote.”  She said, but that’s not defining the persuasion of what she’d be needing to actually _help_.

“Alright, and?”  Dean asked, gesturing to what she’d want him to do if she did this.  “Do you just want me to watch your place while you’re off getting the ingredients?”  Sounds easy enough.

“Oh, you think _I’m_ collecting the ingredients?”  She replied, turning away from the shark to stare at him with humoured disbelief.

“You want _me_ to?”  Dean said to her, because - nope, that didn’t sit well with Dean.

“As you so happily stated, I _am_ an octopifolk, and we _are_ not allowed near the Declared Waters.  So I’d rather not risk _my_ tentacles to save your sorry asses - in short, you’re the most inconspicuous of the three of us to leave this cave.”  She turned back to Sam’s sleeping form.  “Really out of the two of us, this guy ain’t moving for a while.”

“Oh, no, that doesn’t work for me.  I’m not some lackey you send off to go _find_ things.  I am far above that pay grade, lady.”  Dean said, one hand on his hip and the other waving with his words.  He, in his mind, ranks far too important to go on such menial tasks.  And besides, it’s not his fault she chose to live so close to Veriport.

“Are you suggesting you’re above me and are far more capable to save your friend’s life?”  The octopus asked with a tilted head, her eyes and voice holding a dangerous tint to it and Dean hugged his shoulders close under the sudden no-good-bad-feelings he’s experiencing at the look.  He couldn’t even muster the snark to point out Sam’s not exactly his friend.

“How do I know you won’t kill Sam while I’m out?”  Dean instead tried for.

“Because in _my_ mission, your shark here is the VIP, and you?   Well, you are _far_ below that pay grade.  You just so happen to look smart enough to get me the right plants I’ll need, s’all.  ‘Sides, I can’t leave Sam’s side, in case, you know, he decides to try to go tails up worse.”  She said all in one lovely burst, and the amount of insult Dean felt at her words fell under ‘indescribable’ and he grit his teeth, cheeks flaring red and he muttered choice words.  

While Dean stared indignified at her back, she pulled out a small, old journal, and began to circle various pictures on the pages before tossing the book at Dean who barely caught it in time.

Dean didn’t bother to look at it, still glaring at her head.  “Do you even _know_ who I am?”  He asked, hellfire in his tone.

“Of course I do.”  She replied without missing a beat, turning to him with knowledgeable, dangerous eyes.  Dean’s heart stuttered at that.  “You’re Dean.  And I know _exactly_ who you are.  And from where you hail.”

“Then you know what I’m capable of.”  He said, thrown off at how quick she replied but if she knew his lineage then it’s settled.  How she knew him when she’s all the way out in the Declared Waters, however, felt just a tad bit unnerving to Dean.

“I know what you _were_ capable of.  What you are of now?  Not threatening, boy.”  She said, venom dripping from her voice and her words stung Dean.  “Now what are you still doing here?  I circled what I’ll need, and it all can be found in the forest.”  She made a dismissive gesture at him, and Dean spent only a second longer to huff out in bright anger before shooting out of the cave to start gathering what she needs.

-

“Friggen’ high-seahorse octopus lady, who the hell does she think she is…”  Dean grumbled while he plucked a few oddly shaped sea-flora from a small corallite, the glowing tidbits at the end entranced Dean, and he double checked the description for the plant - can’t get it wrong here - before he shoved them into his emptied satchel.  “I’m important!  Hell, I’ll always be _far_ above the likes of her, no matter what she does or accomplish.”  He shouted to nothing in particular.

The indecency of that fishfolk, now, if Dean only had an _ounce_ of the pull he used to have, he would’ve pulled all the strings - and then some _more_ just for the halibut - to show the seawitch her place.  Dean’s not some lowlife lackey, or - or idiot to be ordered around.  And yet, here he had found himself, gathering all the ingredients with more care than he thought he would’ve initially put into this.

Dean sighed as he pulled up the journal, a small check placed by the depiction of the flower he just picked, and shrugged his shoulders.  He figured he’s taking extra precaution because Sam’s life is on the line, and though he didn’t want to own up to having anything resembling that of a proper moral ground, he didn’t want to be the cause of the shark’s death.  Sam _was_ helping him, even saved him from the Royal Army, so the guilt of the shark’s death wouldn’t be so easily buried in it’s proper grave.

“Serves me right for having _standards_ .”  He drew the last word out, and rolled his eyes while he swam up a bit higher to collect some smaller, oddly splotched algae that grew at the top of the coral branches.  Apparently it soothes the fever or some other odd medicinal shit, Dean’s not a doctor, he wouldn’t know.  The mer would assume this exact plant not really necessary, as he had all the right things - he hoped - to make the antidote, but Sam last didn’t appear much to be having a ball and if _Dean_ had been in his position, he’d hope the shark would do the same.  

Except, if Dean honestly got down to it - he’d just go on a limb that someone _would_ do the same for him, because, you know, he _is_ rather important.  Though currently…  He’s not exactly high on the food chain, which might work against his survival, and his actual history might cause said survival to drop down into the territories of _no thank you_ and - Dean shook his head, none of those thoughts.  He hadn’t the time nor the place to dwell on this.

Though he had to admit - it fucking sucked.  He at one point had it all, lived the high life, no worries or care except what his next meal shall be, but he just had to go off and discover some nasty details in the grand scheme of Atlantis’ foundations and instead of just shrugging off what he had learned - he went to right the wrong.  Which honestly shocked him, he hadn’t suspected such a noble cause capable of coming from the likes of him, but Dean, despite the water he carried about himself, he cared for the plight deeply.

But, figured the one guy he thought he could trust with what he learned, figured the _one guy_ he thought could fix this obviously no good business, would cast him out for it.  He really should have seen it coming, when he looked back on it.  The Royal’s liked where they were at, the General, no less.  And Dean, like the biggest idiot of them all, went _straight_ to the bloody _source_ of it all, to _fix_ the issue.

Said issue being the banishment of certain fishfolk, the hunting - the _slaying_ of innocent sea life who hadn’t chosen what tier they were to be born.  Dean couldn’t - he _couldn’t_ , let such a thing carry on.  They were civilized now, with inventions and kingdoms and towns, and the green mer had foolishly assumed his name would carry enough weight to fight the propaganda that had been so lovingly and carefully crafted, to be spewed down the mouths of generations before and the generations after.  Dean should have been smarter.

And thanks to his stupidity he found himself virtually banished to the Open Waters, his name plastered everywhere and anywhere too close to the Capital.  They turned him _fugitive_ , and Dean wouldn’t be too surprised if Daddy Dearest had been doing little to nothing to aid his cause.  The man’s probably feeding into all the things the General spewed about how his _precious_ , _dear_ boy was simply _lost_ in grand delusions and would return home safely, under the watchful, and ever caring eyes, of the Royal Army - lest he loses his life in a _tragic_ , shark related accident, of course.

More, vastly unneeded supposed proof, to Dean’s _delusions_ of equality amongst all fishfolk.  Proof of which Dean’s father and societal peers hadn’t required to assume Dean’s words and ideals of making true peace between all species, clear, deluded, _rubbish_ , in their minds.  Simply the ramblings of a confused young mer, who hadn’t a _real_ ounce of knowledge on what he’s talking about.

Dean shook his head roughly, again, and dispersed the thoughts to the very back of his mind where he wouldn’t have to think on them again for some time.  Yes, he’s in a shitty situation, and yes, his odds of survival are pretty damn dim, and _yes_ , his last ditch effort to fix the fucked up policies of Atlantis was currently dying thanks to poison - but he couldn’t be a guppy about it all.  He shan’t allow himself the pleasure of moping about in pity for himself - he’ll do that later.  Maybe reserve the woe-is-me festivities for before sleep.  Smart idea, that.

But all he needs to do right now - is focus on getting the damned plants and piss off right back to the stupid octopifolk.

-

 


End file.
